
Glass, y-' o 2--=^ Q Q 

Rook J-\l !Ms 



<:J>^'-^ 'ii- 



M6 /^or 

Langdon Mitchell 

THE NEW YORK 
IDEA 




A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS 



Walter H. Baker 6 Co.. Boston 






THF AMAZONS ^^^^^ ^ Three Acts. Seyen males, fire females. 
^^ Costumes, modem ; scenery, not difficult. Plays 

a full evening. 

THE CABINET MINISTER ^,^,^^Z.T^,l^Z'ZT. 

scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

DANDY DICR '^9X<^'^ ^ Three Acts. Seven males, four females. 
Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors. Plays 
two hours and a half. 

THE (lAY LORD OUEX ^<*°^®<^y ^ ^^^ Acts. Four males, ten 
^ females. Costumes, modem ; scenery, 

two interiors and an exterior. Plays a full evening. 

HIS ROUSF fN ORDFR C/omedy in Four Acts. Nine males, four 
•J 11VU*?I4 1 VIWI4 females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, 
three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

THE HOBBY HORSE ^<*°^®^y ^ Three Acts. Ten males, five 
kULt uvilUi UViu:>ii fejjmieg^ Costumes, modem; scenery easy. 

Plays two hours and a halt 

IRIS ^'*°^^ ^ YiYQ Acts. Seven males, seven females. Costumes, 
modem ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

LADY BOUNTIFUL ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ '^'^^^' ^^ht males, seven fe- 
I4 If VU 1 UI4 maiQg Costumes, modern ; scenery, four in- 

teriors, not easy. Plays a full evening. 

LFTTY ■^'^^'^''^ ^ Four Acts and an Epilogue. Ten males, five fe- 
^ males. Costumes, modem ; scenery complicated. Plays a 

full evening. 



Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

^altet t$. 'Bafier & Company 

No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts 




/73?' 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 



THE NEW YORK 
IDEA ^ ^ ^ 

A Comedy in Four Acts 



By LANGDON MITCHELL 



All rights reserved under the International Copyright Act^ 
Performance forbidden and right of representation reserved^ 
Application for the right of performing this play may be 
made to Alice Kauser, 1402 Broadway, New York, A'. Y. 

Published by arrangement with Harrison Grey Fiske 



BOSTON 
WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 

1908 






X 

The New York Idea 

Copyright, 1907, by Harrison Grey Fiske 

{Copyright assigned by Harrison Grey Fiske to 
Langdon Mitchell^ Jatniary, igo8) 

Copyright, 1908, by 
LANGDON MITCHELL 

All rights reserved 



PLEASE READ CAREFULLY 

The acting rights of this play are reserved by the author. 

Performance is strictly forbidden unless his express consent or 

that of his agent has first been obtained, and attention is called 

to the penalties provided by law for any infringement of his 

rights, as follows : — 

"Sec. 4966 : — Any person publicly performing or representing any 
•dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, 
-without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composi- 
(tion, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such 
•damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred 
dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as 
to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and rep- 
resentation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty 
of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction be imprisoned for a period not 
■exceeding one year."— U. S. Revised Statutes, Title bo. Chap. 3. 

The right to perform this play professionally may be obtained 
by addressing Alice Kauser, No. 1402 Broadway, New 
York, N. Y. Amateurs may produce it on payment of a royalty 
of twenty-five dollars for each performance payable in advance 
to the publishers, Walter H. Baker & Co., No. 5 Hamilton 
Place, Boston, Mass. 



The New York Idea 



THE PEOPLE 

Philip Phillimore, a Judge on the bench^ cige ^O. 

Grace Phillimore, his sister, age 20. 

Mrs. Phillimore, his mother, age yo. 

Miss Heneage, his aunt, age 60. 

Matthew Phillimore, his brother — a bishop, age 4^, 

William Sudley, his cousin, age 50. 

Mrs. Vida Phillimore, his divorced wife, age j^. 

Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby. 

John Karslake, lawyer, politician and racing-many 

ag^ 35- 
Mrs. Cynthia Karslake, his divorced wife, age 25. 
Brooks, Mrs. Phillimore'' s footman. 
Tim Fiddler, Mr. Karslake' s trainer. 
NoGAM, his valet. 

Thomas, thefafnily servafit of the Phillimores, age 45. 
Benson, Mrs. Vida Phillimore' s maid, age 20. 



SYNOPSIS 

ACT I 

SCENE. — In the house of Miss Heneage. Afternoon 
tea of Wednesday. The set is a?i informal dratv- 
ing-room. 

ACT II 

SCENE.— 7%^ ho7ne of Mrs. Vida Phillimore. 
II A. M., of Thursday. A Boudoir. 

ACT III 

SCENE. — The house of Miss Heneage. After din- 
ner of Thursday. Same set as act first. 

ACT IV 

SCENE.— 7%^ home of John Kar slake. Midnight 
of Thursday. His study and lounging-room. 



VI 



Copy of the Program of the First Production 

LYRIC THEATRE 

WEEK BEGINNING MONDAY EVENING, NOVEMBER 19, 1906. 
Matinee Saturday. 

Under the Direction of Harrison Grey Fiske 

Mrs. Fiske 

AND 

The Manhattan Company 

Presenting a Play in Four Acts, Entitled 

THE NEW YORK IDEA 

By Langdon Mitchell 

The People of the Play 

Philip Phillimore - - - Charles Harbiiry 

Mrs. Phillimore, his mother - - Ida Vernon 
The Reverend Matthew Phillimore, his 

brother - - -. - Dudley Clinton 
Grace Phillimore, his sister - - Emily Stevens 
Miss Heneage, his aunt - - Blanche Weaver 
William Sudley, his cousin - William B. Mack 
Mrs. Vida PhiUimore, his divorced 

wife ----- Marion Lea 
Brooks, her footman - - - George Har court 
Benson, her maid - - - - Belle Bohn 
vii 



Sir Wilfrid Gates- Darby - - George Arliss 

John Karslake - . . . John Mason 
Mrs. Cynthia Karslake, his divorced 

wife - - - . Mrs. Fiske 

Nogani, his valet - - - Dudley Digges 
Tim Fiddler - - - - Robert V. Ferguson 
Thomas, the Phillimores' family serv- 
ant - - - - - Richard Clarke 

ACT I — Drawing-Room in the PhiUimore house, 
Washington Square. 
Wednesday after noon y at five o'clock. 
ACT II— Mrs. Vida Phillimore's Boudoir, Fifth 
Avenue. 
Thursday mornifig^ at eleven. 
ACT III— Same as Act I. 

Thursday evening, at ten. 

ACT IV — John Karslake's House, Madison Avenue. 

Thursday, at midnight. 

Scene — New York. Time — The Present 

The production staged by Mr. and Mrs. Fiske. 



vui 



PREFACE 

Mr. William Archer's Notice of " The New York 
Idea " 



* * * * This play, too, I was unable to see, 
but I have read it with extraordinary interest. It is a 
social satire so largely conceived and so vigorously ex- 
ecuted that it might take an honorable place in any 
dramatic literature. We have nothing quite like it on the 
latter-day English stage. In tone and treatment it re- 
minds one of Mr. Carton ; but it is far broader in concep- 
tion and richer in detail than " Lord and Lady Algy " or 
"Lady Huntworth's Experiment." In France it might 
perhaps be compared to "La Famille Benoiton " or " Le 
Monde ou Ton s'ennuie," or better, perhaps, to a more 
recent, but now almost forgotten satire of the 'nineties, 
" Paris Fin-de-Siecle." 

I find it very hard to classify "The New York Idea" 
under any of the established rubrics. It is rather too ex- 
travagant to rank as a comedy ; it is much too serious in 
its purport, too searching in its character-dehneation and 
too thoughtful in its wit, to be treated as a mere farce. 
Its title — not, perhaps, a very happy one — is explained in 
this saying of one of the characters : " Marry for, whim 
and leave the rest to the divorce court— that's the New 
York idea of marriage." And again : "The modern 
American marriage is like a wire fence — the woman's the 
wire — the posts are the husbands. One — two — three ! 
And if you cast your eye over the future, you can count 
them, post after post, up hill, down dale, all the way to 
Dakota." 



X PREFACE 

Like all the plays, from Sardou's " Divorcons " on- 
ward, which deal with a too facile system of divorce, this 
one shows a discontented woman, who has broken up her 
home for a caprice, suffering agonies of jealousy when 
her ex-husband proposes to make use of the freedom she 
has given him, and returning to him at last with the ad- 
mission that their divorce was at least " premature." In 
this central conception there is nothing particularly 
original. It is the wealth of humorous invention displayed 
in the details both of character and situation that renders 
the play remarkable. 

It is interesting to note, by the way, a return on Mr. 
Mitchell's part to that convenient assumption of the 
Restoration and eighteenth century comedy writers that 
any one in holy orders could solemnize a legal marriage 
at any time or place, without the slightest formality of 
banns, witnesses, registration or anything of the sort. 
One gathers that in New York the entrance to and the 
exit from the holy estate of matrimony are equally prompt 
and easy ; or that, as one of the characters puts it, " the 
church is a regular quick-marriage counter." 

I presume there is some exaggeration in this, and that 
a marriage cannot actually be celebrated at midnight, 
over a champagne-and-lobster supper, by a clergyman 
who happened to drop in. But there can be no doubt 
that whatever the social merits or demerits of the system 
facility of divorce and remarriage is an immense boon to 
the dramatist. It places within his reach an inexhaustible 
store of situations and comphcations which are barred to 
the Enghsh playwright, to whom divorce always means 
an ugly and painful scandal. The moralist may insist 
that this ought always to be the case ; and indeed that is 
the implicadon which Mr. Mitchell, as a moralist, con- 
veys to us. 

He sacrifices the system of divorce for every trivial 
flaw of temper which prevails in the society he depicts ; 
but he no doubt realizes that his doctrine as a satirist is 
hostile to his interest as a dramatist. Restrict the facili- 



PREFACE xi 

ties of divorce and you at once restrict the possibilities of 
matrimonial comedy. Marriage becomes no longer a 
comic, but a tragic institution. 

In order to keep his theme entirely on the comic plane, 
Mr. Mitchell has given no children to either of the two 
couples whom he puts through such a fantastic quadrille. 
Law or no law, the separation of its parents is always a 
tragedy to the child ; which is not to say, of course, that 
their remaining together may not in some cases be the 
more tragic of the two alternatives. Be this as it may» 
Mr. Mitchell has eluded the issue. 

Nor has he thereby falsified his problem, for his char- 
acters belong to that class of society in which, as Mr. 
Dooley points out, the multiphcation of automobiles is 
preferred to that of progeny. But he has not omitted to 
hint at the problem of the children, and, as it were, con- 
fess his dehberate avoidance of it. He does so in a touch 
of exquisite irony. John and Cynthia Karslake are a 
couple devoted, not to automobiles, but to horses. 
Even their common passion for racing cannot keep 
them together ; but their divorce is so " premature," and 
leaves John so restless and dissatisfied, that he actually 
neglects the cares of the stable. His favorite mare^ 
Cynthia K, falls ill, and when his trainer brings him the 
news he receives it with shocking callousness. Then the 
trainer meets Cynthia and complains to her of her ex- 
husband's indifference. "Ah, ma'am," he says, " when 
husband and wife splits, it's the horses that suffers." I 
know not where to look for a speech of profounder ironic 
implication. More superficial, but still a good specimen 
of Mr. Mitchell's wit, is William Sudley's remark as to 
John Karslake: " Oh, yes, he comes of a very respecta- 
ble family, though I remember his father served a term 
in the Senate." 

Altogether "The New York Idea" is, from the in- 
tellectual point of view, the most remarkable piece of 
work I have encountered in America. It is probably too 
true to the details of American life to have much success 



xii PREFACE 

in England ; but the situation at the end of the third act 
could not fail to bring down the house even here. It 
would take too long to describe it in detail. Suffice it to 
say that just at the point where Cynthia Karslake dis- 
misses her second bridegroom, to return to her first, the 
choir assembled for the marriage ceremony, mistaking a 
signal, bursts forth with irresistibly ludicrous effect into 
" The Voice That Breathed O'er Eden." 



The publishers take the occasion to express their thanks 
to Mr. Willia7n Archer for his kind permission to preface 
"The New York Idea '' with his notice of the play in 
*'The London Tribune " of May ^7, igoy. 



To Marion Lea 



The New York Idea 



THE FIRST ACT 

SCENE. — Livifig room in the house of Philip Philli- 
MORE. Five p. M. of a?i afternoon of May. The 
general air and appearance of the room is that of an old- 
fashionedy decorousy comfortable interior. There are 
no electric lights and no electric bells. Two bell ropes 
as in old fashioned houses. The room is in dark tones 
inclining to sombre and of old-fashioned elegance. 

\^At rise, discovered Miss Heneage, Mrs. Philli- 
MORE tf/?^ Thomas. Miss Heneage is a solidly 
builty narrow minded woman in her sixties. 
She makes no effort to look younger than she is, 
and is expensively but quietly dressed^ with 
heavy elegance. She commands her household 
and her family connection, and on the strength 
of a large and steady income feels that her opin- 
ion has its value. Mrs. Phillimore is a semi- 
professional invalid, refined and unintelligent. 
Her movements are weak and fatigued. Her 
voice is habitually plaintive and she is en- 
tirely a lady without a trace of being a zuoman 
of fashion. Thomas is an easy-mannered, but 
• entirely respectful family servant, un-English 
both in style and appearance. He has no de- 
1 



2 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

portment worthy of being so calledy and takes an 
evident interest in the affairs of the family he 
serves. Miss Heneage, seated at the tea-table y 
faces footlights. Mrs. Phillimore, seated 
left of table. Thomas stands near by. Tea 
things on table. Decanter of sherry in coaster. 
Bread and butter on plate. Vase with flowers. 
Silver match-box. Large old-fashioned tea urn. 
Guard for flame. ** Evening Post " on tea- 
table. Miss Heneage and Mrs. Phillimore 
both have cups of tea. Miss Heneage sits up 
very straighty and pours tea for Grace, who 
enters from door l. She is a pretty and fash- 
ionably dressed girl of twenty. She speaks su- 
per ciliously, coolly y and not too fast. She sits on 
the sofay l., and does not lounge. She wears a 
gown suitable for spring visiting, haty parasol, 
glovesy etc. 

Grace. 
[Crosses and sits.l I never in my life walked so far 
and found so few people at home. [Pauses. Takes 
off gloves. Somewhat querulously .'I The fact is the nine- 
teenth of May is ridiculously late to be in town. 

[Pause. Thomas comes down l. table. 

Miss Heneage. 
Thomas, Mr. Phillimore* s sherry ? 

Thomas. 

The sherry, ma'am. 

[Thomas nods and indicates table up L. 

Miss Heneage. 
Mr. Phillimore" s P^5/f 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 3 

Thomas. 
\_Same business. Pointing to "Evening Post'' on tea- 
iabk.'] The Post, ma'am. 

Miss Heneage. 
\Indicates cup.'] Miss Phillimore. 

[Thomas takes cup of tea to Grace. Silence. 
They all sip tea. Thomas goes back, fills 
sherry glass, remaining round and about the 
tea-table. They all drink tea during the fol- 
lowing scene. 

Grace. 
The Dudleys were at home. They wished to know 
when my brother Phihp was to be married, and where 
and how ? 

Miss Heneage. 
If the Dudleys were persons of breeding, they'd not 
intrude their curiosity upon you. 

Grace. 
I like Lena Dudley. 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
\Speaks slowly and gently 7\ Do I know Miss Dudley ? 

Grace. 
She knows Phihp. She expects an announcement of 
the wedding. 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
I trust you told her that my son. my sister and myself 
are all of the opinion that those who have been divorced 
should remarry with modesty and without parade. 

Grace. 
I told 'the Dudleys Philip's wedding was here, to- 
morrow. 

[Thomas at back of table ready to be of use. 



4 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Miss Heneage. 
[7(7 Mrs. Phillimore, picking up a sheet of paper 
which has lain on the table.'] I have spent the afternoon, 
Mary, in arranging and hsting the wedding gifts, and in 
writing out the announcements of the wedding. I think 
I have attained a proper form of announcement. \_She 
takes the sheet of Jiote paper and gives it to Thomas.] Of 
course the announcement Phihp himself made was quite 
out of the question. [Grace smilesP] However, there is 
mine. 

{Poifits to paper. Thomas gii'es list to Mrs. 
Phillimore and moves up stage. 

Grace. 
I hope you'll send an announcement to the Dudleys. 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
\Iieads plaintively, ready to jnake the best of thifigs.'] 
"Mr. Philip Philhmore and Mrs. Cynthia Dean Kars- 
lake announce their marriage, May twenUeth, at three 
o'clock. Nineteen A, Washington Square, New York," 
[^Replaces paper on Thomas's salver.] It sounds very 
nice. 

[Thomas hands paper to Miss Heneage. 

Miss Heneage. 

[Thomas tip stage.] In my opinion it barely escapes 
sounding nasty. However, it is correct. The only re- 
maining question is — to whom the announcement should 
not be sent. [Exit Thomas.] I consider an announce- 
ment of the wedding of two divorced persons to be in the 
nature of an intimate communication. It not only an- 
nounces the wedding — it also announces the divorce. 
\_She returns to her teacup.] The person I shall ask coun- 
sel of is cousin WiUiam Sudley. He promised to drop in 
this afternoon. 

Grace. 

Oh ! We shall hear all about Cairo. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 5 

Mrs. Phillimore. 

William is judicious. 

\_Reenter Thomas. 

Miss Heneage. 

\_lVith Jijiaiity.'] Cousin William will disapprove of the 
match unless a winter in Cairo has altered his moral tone. 

Thomas. 

\_Annoimces.'] Mr. Sudley. 

{Enter William Sudley, a little oldish gentle- 
man. He is and appears thoroughly insig- 
nificant. But his opinion of the place he occu- 
pies in the world is enormous. His manners, 
voice, presence are all those of a jnan of breed- 
ing and self-ijnportance. 

Mrs. Phillimore and Miss Heneage. 

{Rise arid greet Sudley; a little tremulously. '\ My 
dear WiUiam ! 

{Exit Thomas. 

Sudley. 

{Shakes hands with Mrs. Phillimore, soberly glad to 
see them.'] How d'ye do, Mary ? {Same business with MiSS 
Heneage,] A very warm May you're having, Sarah. 

Grace. 

{Comes to him.] Dear Cousin William ! 

Miss Heneage. 

Wasn't it warm in Cairo when you left ? 

{She ivill have the strict irtith, or nothing ; still, 
on account ^ Sudley' s impeccable respectabil- 
ity, she treats him with more than usual 
leniency. 



6 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

SUDLEY. 

[5z/5 L.] We left Cairo six weeks ago, Grace, so I've 
had no news since you wrote in February that Phihp was 
engaged. \^Pause.'\ I need not to say I consider Phihp's 
engagement excessively regrettable. He is a judge upon 
the Supreme Court bench with a divorced wife — and such 
a divorced wife ! 

Grace. 

Oh, but Philip has succeeded in keeping everything as 
quiet as possible. 

SUDLEY. 

\_AcidIy.'\ No, my dear ! He has not succeeded in 
keeping his former wife as quiet as possible. We had 
not been in Cairo a week when who should turn up but 
Vida Phillimore. She went everywhere and did every- 
thing no woman should ! 

Grace. 

\^Unf eigne lily ijiierested.'] Oh, what did she do ? 

SUDLEY. 

She "did" Cleopatra at the tableaux at Lord Erring- 
ton's! She "did" Cleopatra, and she did it robed only 
in some diaphanous material of a nature so transparent 
that — in fact she appeared to be draped in moonshine. 
[Miss Heneage indicates the presence of Gb.kC'E.. Rises; 
to c] That was only the beginning. As soon as she 
heard of Philip's engagement, she gave a dinner in honor 
of it ! Only divorcees were asked ! And she had a 
dummy — yes, my dear, a dummy — at the head of the 
table. He stood for Phihp — that is he sat for Philip ! 

{^Rises, and goes up to table. 

Miss Heneage. 
{^Irritated and disgusted. '\ Ah ! 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
I \Wiih dismay and pain. '\ Dear me! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 7 

Miss Heneage. 
\Confide7it of the value of her opinion.'] I disapprove of 
Mrs. Phillimore. 

SUDLEY. 

\_Takes cigarette.] Of course you do, but has Philip 
taken to Egyptian cigarettes in order to celebrate my 
winter at Cairo ? 

\_Co?nes below chair. 

Grace. 
Those are Cynthia's. 

SUDLEY. 

{Thinking that 7io one is worth knowing whom he does 
not know.] Who is " Cynthia" ? 

Grace. 
Mrs. Karslake She's staying here. Cousin Will- 
iam. She'll be down in a minute. 

SUDLEY. 

{Shocked.] You don't mean to tell me ? ! 

{To armchair, L. 

Miss Heneage. 
Yes, William, Cynthia is Mrs. Karslake — Mrs. Kars- 
lake has no New York house. I disliked the publicity 
of a hotel in the circumstances, and accordingly when 
she became engaged to Philip, I invited her here. 

SUDLEY. 

{Suspicious and distrustful.] And may I ask who Mrs. 
Karslake is ? 

Miss Heneage. 
{With confidence.] She was a Deane. 



8 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

SUDLEY. 

\_Crosses up back of table R., sorry to be obliged to con- 
cede good birth to any but his own blood.'] Oh, oh — well 
the Deanes are extremely nice people. [Goes to table.] 
Was her father J. William Deaiie ? 

Miss Heneage. 
\_Still more secure ; nods.] Yes. 

SUDLEY. 

[Giving in with difficulty.] The family is an old one. 
J. William Deane's daughter? Surely he left a very- 
considerable 

Miss Heneage. 
Oh, fifteen or twenty millions. 
Sudley. 
[Determined not to be dazzled.] If I remember rightly 
she was brought up abroad. 

Miss Heneage, 
In France and England — and I fancy brought up with 
a very gay set in very gay places. In fact she is what 
is called a " sporty " woman. 

Sudley. 
[Akvays ready to think the worst.] We might put up 
with that. But you don't mean to tell me Phihp has the 
— the — the — assurance to marry a woman who has been 
divorced by 

Miss Heneage. 
Not at all. Cynthia Karslake divorced her husband. 

Sudley. 
[Gloomily , since he has less fault to find than he ex- 
pected.] She divorced him ! Ah ! 

[Sips his tea. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 9 

Miss Heneage. 
The suit went by default. And, my dear William, 
there are many palliating circumstances. Cynthia was 
married to Karslake only seven months. There are 
no — [fiances at Grace] no hostages to F^ortune ! 
Ahem ! 

SUDLEY. 

\_Still unwilling to be pleased.'] Ah ! What sort of a 
young woman is she ? 

[Goes to C. 
Grace. 
llFit/i the superiority of one who is not too popular.'] 
Men admire her. 

Miss Heneage. 
She's not conventional. 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
{Showing a faint sense of Justice.'] I am bound to say 
she has behaved discreetly ever since she arrived in this 
house. 

Miss Heneage. 
Yes, Mary — but I sometimes suspect that she exercises 
a degree of self-control 

SUDLEY. 

\_Glad to have something against some one.] She claps 
on the lid, eh? And you think that perhaps some day 
she'll boil over? Well, of course fifteen or twenty mil- 
hons — but who's Karslake ? 

Grace. 
{Very superciliously.] He owns Cynthia K. She's the 
famous mare. 

Miss Heneage. 
He's Henry Karslake' s son. 



10 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

SUDLEY. 

{^Beginning to make the best of fifteen millions-in-law Jl 
Oh ! — Henry ! — Very respectable family. Although I re- 
member his father served a term in the senate. And so 
the wedding is to be to-morrow ? 

Mrs. Phillimore, 

{Assents^ To-morrow. 

SUDLEY. 

\Bored, and his respectability to the front when he thinks 
of the cerejnony ; rises. Grace m«.] To-morrow. Well, 
my dear Sarah, a respectable family with some means. 
We must accept her. But on the whole, I think it will 
be best for me not to see the young woman. My disap- 
probation would make itself apparent. 

Grace. 
\Whispering to Sudley.] Cynthia's coming. 

[//<? doesn t hear. 
[Enter Cynthia, absorbed in reading a newspaper. 
She is a you Jig creature in her twenties, s?nall 
and high-bred, full of the love of excitement 
and sport. Her manner ts wide aivake and 
keen and she is evidently in no fear of the opin- 
ion of others. Her dress is exceedingly elegant, 
but with the elegattce of a woman whose chief 
interests lie in life out of doors. There is noth- 
ing horsey in her style, ajid her expression 
is youthful and ingenuous. 

Sudley. 
[Sententious and determinately epigrammatic .'\ The un- 
couth modern young woman, eight feet high, with a skin 
like a rhinoceros and manners like a cave dweller — an 
habitue of the race-track and the divorce court 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 11 

Grace. 
\Aside to SuDLEY.] Cousin William ! 

SUDLEY. 

Eh, oh! 

Cynthia. 

\^Comes down reading, immersed, excited, tretnbling. She 
lowers paper to catch the light. '\ " Belmont favorite — six 
to one — Rockaway — Rosebud, and Flying Cloud. Slow 
track — raw wind — ^hm, hm, hm At the half, Rock- 
away forged ahead, when Rosebud under the lash made 
a bold bid for victory — neck by neck — for a quarter — 
when Flying Cloud slipped by the pair and won on the 
post by a nose in one forty nine! " [7/? R. Speaks 
with the etithusiasm of a sport. \ Oh, I wish I'd seen the 
dear thing do it. Oh, it's Mr. Sudley ! You must think 
me very rude. How do you do, Mr. Sudley? 

\Goes to Sudley, l. c. 

Sudley. 
\_Very respectable as he bows without cordiality. ~\ Mrs. 
Karslake. 

\_Paiise ; Cynthia feels he should say something. 
As he says nothing, she speaks again. 

Cynthia. 
I hope Cairo was delightful ? Did you have a smooth 
voyage .'' 

Sudley. 
\_Fo?nf)ously.~\ You must permit me, Mrs. Karslake 

Cynthia. 
[ With good temper, somewhat e7nbarrassed, and talking 
herself into ease.^ Oh, please don't welcome me to the 
family. All that formal part is over, if you don't mind. 
I'm one of the tribe now ! You're coming to our wedding 
to-morrow ? 



12 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

SUDLEY. 

My dear Mrs. Karslake, I think it might be wiser 

Cynthia. 

Instill with cordial good temper.'] Oh, but you must 
come ! I mean to be a perfect wite to PhiHp and all his 
relations ! That sounds rather miscellaneous, but you 
know what I mean. 

SUDLEY. 

[ Very sententious.'] I am afraid 

Cynthia. 

\_Gay and still covering her embarrassment.'] If you 
don't come, it'll look as if you were not standing by 
Philip when he's in trouble ! You'll come, won't you — 
but of course you will. 

SUDLEY. 

lA/ter a self-important pause.] I will come, Mrs. Kars- 
lake. \_Fause.] Good-afternoon. \^In a tone of sorrow and 
compassion.] Good-bye, Mary. Good-afternoon, Sarah. 
\_Sighs.] Grace, dear. \To Miss Heneage.] At what 
hour did you say the alimony commences? 

Miss Heneage. 
{^Quickly arid commandingly to cover his slip. Going 
up C] The ceremony is at three p. m., WiUiam. 

[SUDLEY^f7^5 Up L. 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
\With fatigued voice and mantier as she rises.] I am 
going to my room to rest awhile. 

[Mrs. V'AW.iAUOKE. goes up. 

Miss Heneage. 
\To SuDLEY.] Oh, WiUiam, one moment — I en- 
tirely forgot ! I've a most important social question to 
ask you ! {She goes up slowly to the door with him.] in 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 13 

regard to the announcements of the wedding — who they 
shall be sent to and who not. For instance — the Dud- 
leys 

[£lr^/^«/ SUDLEY aw^/Miss Heneage, talking. 

Cynthia. 
[Sitting on the sofa, l.] So that's Cousin William? 

Grace. 
\Near the tea-table.~\ Don't you like him ? 

Cynthia. 

{Calmly sarcastic.'] Like him ? I love him. He's so 
generous. He couldn't have received me with more 
warmth if I'd been a mulatto. 

l/^eentcr Thomas. Enter Phillimore. Philip 
Phillimore is a self -centered, short-tempered, 
imperious member of the respectable fashionables 
of New York. He is well and solidly dressed 
attd iti manner and speech evidetitly a man of 
fatnily. He is accnstomecl to being listened to in 
his home circle and from the bench, and it is 
practically impossible for him to believe that he 
can make a ?nistake. 

Grace. 

[Outraged.'] Really you know [Cxsthw crosses 

and sits at table. ] Philip! 

[Philip nods to her absent-inindedly. He is in 
his working suit and looks tired. He comes 
down siletitly, crosses to tea-table. Bends over 
and kisses Cynthia on forehead. Goes to his 
chair, which Thomas has changed the position 
of for him. Sits, and sighs luith satisfaction. 



14 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Philip. 
[As if exhausted by brain work.'] Ah, Grace ! \_Exit 
Grace.] Well, my dear, I thought I should never 
extricate myself from the court room. You look very 
debonnair ! 

Cynthia. 
The tea's making. You'll have your glass of sherry ? 

Philip. 
[77^<? strain of the day having evidently been severe. ~\ 
Thanks ! \Takes itfrotn Thomas ; sighs. '\ Ah ! 

Cynthia. 
I can see it's been a tiring day with you. 

Philip. 
\^As before.'] Hm ! [Sijfs. 

Cynthia. 
Were the lawyers very long winded ? 

Philip. 
[A/most too tired for speech.] Prolix to the point of 
somnolence. It might be affirmed without inexactitude 
that the prolixity of counsel is the somnolence of the ju- 
diciary. I am fatigued, ah ! [^ little suddenly, awaking 
to the fact that his orders have not been carried out to the 
letter.] Thomas ! My Post is not in its usual place ! 

Cynthia. 
\To Thomas.] It's here, Philip. 

[Thomas gets it. 
Philip. 
Thanks, my dear. {^Opens ''Post:'] Ah! This hour 
with you— is— is really \\i^—\.\it—\abseiitly] the one 
vivid moment of the day. {^Readitig.] Hm— shocking 
attack by the president on vested interests. Hm — too 
bad— but it's to be expected. The people insisted on 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 15 

electing a desperado to the presidential office — they must 
take the hold-up that follows. [Faiise ; he reads.'] Hm ! 
His English is lacking in idiom, his spelling in conserva- 
tism, his mind in balance, and his character in repose. 

Cynthia. 
[^Amiabie but not very sympathetic 7\ You seem more fa- 
tigued than usual. Another glass of sherry, Philip ? 

Philip. 
Oh, I ought not to 

Cynthia. 
I think you seem a httle more tired than usual. 

Philip. 
Perhaps I am. {She pours out sherry. Philip takes 
glass but does not sip.] Ah, this hour is truly a grateful 
form of restful excitement. {Pause.] You, too, find it 
— eh? 

{Looks at Cynthia. 

Cynthia. 
{With veiled sarcas7Ji7] Decidedly. 

Philip. 
Decidedly what, my dear ? 

Cynthia. 

{As before.] Restful. 

Philip. 
Hm ! Perhaps I need the calm more than you do. 
Over the case to-day I actually — eh — {sips] slumbered. 
I heard myself do it. That's how I know. A dress- 
maker sued on seven counts. {Reads newspaper.] 
Really, the insanity of the United States Senate — you 



16 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

seem restless, my dear. Ah — um — have you seen 
the evening paper ? I see there has been a hghtning 

change in the style or size of hats which ladies. 

\_He sweeps a descriptive motion with his hujid^ 
gives paper to Cynthia, the7i moves his glass, 
reads, and sips. 

Cynthia. 
The lamp, Thomas. 

[Thomas biows out the alcohol lamp on the tea- 
table with difficulty. Blows twice. Mov erne tit 
^Philip each time. Blows again. 

Philip. 
\_Irritably.'\ Confound it, Thomas ! What are you 
puffing and blowing at ? 

Thomas. 
It's out, ma'am — yes, sir. 

Philip. 
You're excessively noisy, Thomas ! 

Thomas. 
\_In apiuster.'] Yes, sir — I am. 
Cynthia. 
[Sooth ing Thomas's wounded feelings.'] We don' t need 
you, Thomas. 

Thomas. 
Yes, ma'am. 

Philip. 
Puffing and blowing and shaking and quaking hke an 
automobile in an ecstasy ! 

[Exit Thomas, l. 

Cynthia. 

[Not unsympathetically.'] Too bad, Philip ! I hope my 
presence isn't too agitating ? 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 17 

Philip. 
Ah— it's just because I value this hour with you, 
Cynthia — this hour of tea and toast andtranquilhty. It's 
quite as if we were married — happily married — already. 

Cynthia. 
[Adtmiiing that ftiarried life is a blank, begins to look 
through paper.'] Yes, I feel as if we were married already. 

Philip. 
^A^ot recognizing her tone.'] Ah! It's the calm, you 
see. 

Cynthia. 
[As before.] The calm? Yes— yes, it's— it's the calm. 

Philip. 
\_Sighs.] Yes, the calm — the Halcyon calm of— of 
second choice. Hm ! \^He reads and turns over leaves 
of paper. Cynthia reads. Pause.] After all, my dear 
— the feeling which I have for you — is — is — eh — the 
market is in a shocking condition of plethora ! Hm — 
hm — and what are you reading ? 

Cynthia. 
[Embarrassed.] Oh, eh — well— I — eh— I'm just run- 
ning over the sporting news. 

Philip. 
Oh ! \_He looks thoughtful. 

Cynthia. 
[Begifmifig to forget Philip aiid to remember more in- 
teresting matters.] I fancied Hermes would come in an 
easy winner. He came in nowhere. Nonpareil was 
ridden by Henslow — he's a rotten bad rider. H& gets 
nervous. 



18 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Philip. 
{^Readmg still.'] Does he ? Hm ! I suppose you do re- 
tain an interest in horses and races. Hm — I trust some 

day the— ah— law will attract Oh {turning a page\, 

here's the report of my opinion in that dressmaker's 
case — Haggerty vs. PhiUimore. 

Cynthia. 

Was the case brought against you ? 

\_Pu2zled. 
Philip. 
Oh — no. The suit was brought by Haggerty, Miss 
Haggerty, a dressmaker, against the — in fact, my dear, 
against the former Mrs. PhiUimore. 

\Paiise ; he reads. 

Cynthia. 
{Curious about the matter.] How did you decide it ? 

Philip. 
I was obliged to decide in Mrs. PhiUimore* s favor. 
Haggerty 's plea was preposterous. 

Cynthia. 

Did you — did you meet the — the — former ? 

Philip. 
No. 

Cynthia. 
I often see her at afternoon teas. 

Philip. 
How did you recognize 

Cynthia. 
y^\vj— {opens paper] because Mrs. Vida PhiUimore's 
picture appears in every other issue of most of the even- 
ing papers. And I must confess I was curious. But, 
Pm sure you find it very painful to meet her again. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 19 

Philip. 
\_Siow!y, cottsidering.'] No, — would you find it so im- 
possible to meet Mr. 

Cynthia. 
{^Muck excited and aroused.'] Philip ! Don't speak 
of him. He's nothing. He's a thing of the past. I 
never think of him. I forget him ! 

Philip. 
[^Somewhat sarcastic.'] That's extraordinarily original 
of you to forget him. 

Cynthia. 
\Geiitly, a7id wishiftg to drop the subject.] We each of 
us have something to" forget, Philip — and John Karslake 
is to me Well, he's dead ! 

Philip. 
As a matter of fact, my dear, he is dead, or the next 
thing to it— for he's bankrupt. \_Pause. 

Cynthia. 
Bankrupt? \_Excited a7id moved.] Let's not speak of 
him. I mean never to see him or think about him or 
even hear of him ! 

\_He assents. She reads her paper. He sips his 
tea and reads his paper. She turjis a page, 
starts a7id cries out. 

Philip. 
God bless me ! 

Cynthia. 
It's a picture of — of 

Philip. 
John Karslake ? 



20 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
Picture of him, and one of me, and in the middle be- 
tween us " Cynthia K ! " 

Philip. 

"Cynthia K?" 

Cynthia. 

{^Excited.'] My pet riding mare ! The best horse he 
has! She's an angel even in a photograph! Oh! 
\_Readin^.'] "John Karslake drops a fortune at Sara- 
toga." 

\_Rises and goes tip and down excitedly. Philip 
takes paper and reads. 

Philip. 
\_Unconcemed, as the matter hardly touches hwi.'] Hem — 
ah Advertises country place for sale — stables, fa- 
mous mare " Cynthia K " — favorite riding-mare of former 
Mrs. Karslake who is once again to enter the arena of 
matrimony with the well known and highly respected 
judge of 

Cynthia. 
{Sensitive and much disturbed. \ Don't ! Don't, Philip, 
please don't ! 

Philip. 
My dear Cynthia— take another paper— here's my 
Post! You'll find nothing disagreeable in the Post. 

[Cynthia takes paper. 

Cynthia. 
\After ?'eading, sits l., near table.'] It's much worse in 
the Post. "John Karslake sells the former Mrs. Kars- 
lake's jewels — the famous necklace now at Tiffany's, and 
the sporty ex-husband sells his wife's portrait by Sar- 
gent! " Philip, I can't stand this. 

{Puts paper on table L. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 21 

Philip. 
Really, my dear, Mr. Karslake is bound to appear oc- 
casionally in print — or even you may have to meet him. 

\_Enter Thomas, l. toC 

Cynthia. 
\^Determmed and distressed,'\ I won't meet him! I 
won't meet him. Every time I hear his name or 
"Cynthia K's" I'm so depressed. 

Thomas. 
[Announcing with something like reluctance. To C.J 
Sir, Mr. Fiddler. Mr. Karslake's trainer. 

[Enter Fiddler. He is an English horse trainer, 
a wide-awake stocky well-groo7ned little cock- 
ney. He knows his own mind and sees life 
altogether thvugh a stable door. Well-dressed 
for his station, and not too young. 

Cynthia. 
[Excited a?id disturbed.'] Fiddler? Tim Fiddler? His 
coming is outrageous ! 

Fiddler. 
A note for you, sir. 

Cynthia. 
[Impulsively.'] Oh, Fiddler — is that you ? 

Fiddler. 
Yes'm ! 

Cynthia. 
[In a half whisper, still speaking on impulse.] How is 
she! Cynthia K? How's Planet II and the colt and 
Golden Rod ? How's the whole stable ? Are they well ? 

Fiddler. 
No'm — we're all on the bum. [Aside.] Ever since 
you kicked us over ! 



22 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
{Reproving him, though pleased.'] Fiddler! 
Fiddler. 

The horses is just simply gone to Egypt since you left, 
and so's the guv' nor. 

Cynthia. 
[Putting an end to Fiddler.] That will do, Fiddler. 

Fiddler. 
I'm waiting for an answer, sir. 
Cynthia. 
What is it, Philip ? 

Philip. 
[Uncomfortable.'] A mere matter of business. [^Aside 
to Fiddler.] The answer is, Mr. Karslake can come. 
The — the coast will be clear. 

[Fiddler exits l. 

Cynthia. 
\_Amazed ; rises.] You're not going to see him ? 

Philip. 
But Karslake, my dear, is an old acquaintance of 
mine. He argues cases before me. I will see that you 
do not have to meet him. 

[Cynthia crosses in excited dejection. 
{Enter Matthew. He is a high church clergy- 
ma7i to a highly fashionable congregation. His 
success is partly due to his social position and 
partly to his elegance of speech, but chiefly to 
his inherent amiability, which leaves the sinner 
in happy peace and smiles on the just and unjust 
alike. 

Matthew. 
\Most amiably^ Ah, my dear brother ! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 23 

Philip. 
Matthew. \_Greeis him c. 

Matthew. 
\_Nods to Philip.] Good afternoon, my dear Cynthia. 
How charming you look ! [Cynthia sits at tea-table. To 
Cynthia.] Ah, why weren't you in your pew yesterday ? 
1 preached a most original sermon. 

\_Goes up and takes hat and catie to divan, 

Thomas. 
[^Aside to Philip.] Sir, Mrs. Vida Philhmore's maid 
called you up on the telephone, and you're to expect 
Mrs. Phillimore on a matter of business. 

Philip. 
{^Astonished and disgusted.'] Here, impossible ! [To 
Cynthia.] Excuse me, my dear! 

\_Exit Philip, much embarrassed, followed by 
Thomas. 

Matthew. 

{Comes down to chair, happily and pleasantly self-im- 
portant.'] No, really, it was a wonderful sermon, my dear. 
My text was from Paul — " It is better to marry than to 
burn." It was a strictly logical sermon. I argued — that, 
as the grass withereth, and the flower fadeth, — there is 
nothing final in Nature ; not even Death ! And, as there 
is nothing final in Nature, not even Death ; — so then if 
Death is not final — why should marriage be final ? 
{Gently.] And so the necessity of— eh — divorce ! You 
see ? It was an exquisite sermon ! All New York was 
there ! And all New York went away happy ! Even 
the sinners — if there were any ! I don't often meet sin- 
ners — do you ? 

Cynthia, 
{Indulgently, in spite of his folly, because he is kind.'] 
You're such a dear, delightful Pagan ! Here's your tea ! 



24 THE NEW YOEK IDEA 

Matthew. 
\_7likes tea.'] Why, my dear — you have a very sad ex- 
pression ! 

Cynthia. 
\A little bitterly.'] Why not ? 

Matthew. 
\_With sentimental sweetfiess.'] I feel as if I were of no 
use in the world when I see sadness on a young face. 
Only sinners should feel sad. You have committed no 
sin ! 

Cynthia. 
\_hnpulsively.~\ Yes, I have ! 

Matthew. 
Eh? 

Cynthia. 
I committed the unpardonable sin — whe — when I mar- 
ried for love ! 

Matthew. 
One must not marry for anything else, my dear ! 

Cynthia. 
Why am I marrying your brother? 

Matthew. 
I often wonder why ? I wonder why you didn't 
choose to remain a free woman. 

Cynthia. 
\Going over the ground she has often argued with her- 
self 7\ I meant to ; but a divorcee has no place in society. 
I felt horridly lonely ! I wanted a friend. Philip was 
ideal as a friend — for months. Isn't it nice to bind a 
friend to you ? 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 25 

Matthew. 

Yes — yes ! 

\_Puis down teacup. 

Cynthia. 
\Gro'wing more atid more excited and moved as she 
speaks.'] To marry a friend — to marry on prudent, sen- 
sible grounds — a man — like Philip ? That's what I 
should have done first, instead of rushing into marriage — 
because I had a wild, mad, sensitive, sympathetic — pas- 
sion and pain and fury — of, I don't know what — that 
almost strangled me with happiness ! 

Matthew. 
{Afniable and reminiscent. ~\ Ah — ah — in my youth — I, 
— 1 too ! 

Cynthia. 
\_Coming back to her manner of every day.] And besides 
— the day Phihp asked me I was in the dumps ! And 
now — how about marrying only for love ? 

\_Reenter Philip. 

Matthew. 
Ah, my dear, love is not the only thing in the world ! 

Philip. 
\_Half aside.] I got there too late, she'd hung up. 

Cynthia. 
Who, Philip? 

Philip. 

Eh — a lady — eh 

\_Enter TnouAS, flurried, with card on salver. 

Thomas. 
A card for you, sir. Ahem — ahem — Mrs. Phillimore — 
that was, sir. 



26 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Philip. 
Eh? 

Thomas. 
She's on the stairs, sir. [^Turns. Enter Vida. 
Thomas announces her as being the best way of meeting 
the difficulty r)^ Mrs. Vida Phillimore ! 

[ViDA comes in slowly, with the air of a 
spoiled beauty. She stops just inside the door 
and speaks in a -very casual fnaniier. Her 
voice is huiguotirous and caressing. She is 
dressed in the excess of the French fashion 
, and carries aji outre' parasol. She seniles and 

comes, undulating, down c. Tableau. Exit 
Thomas. 

Vida. 

How do you do, Philip. \_Comes downc.'] Don't tell 
me I'm a surprise! I had you called up on the 'phone 
and I sent up my card — and, besides, Philip dear, when 
you have the — the — habit of the house, as unfortunately 
I have, you can't treat yourself like a stranger in a 
strange land. At least, I can't — so here I am. My 
reason for coming was to ask you about that B. and O. 
stock we hold in common. \_To Matthew, condescend- 
ingly, the clergy being a class of unfortunates debarred 
by profession from the pleasures of the world.'] How do 
you do ? \_Pause. She then goes to the real reason of her 
visit.] Do be polite and present me to your wife-to-be. 

Philip. 

[^Awkwardly.] Cynthia 

Cynthia. 
\_Comes down to table r. of it. Cheerfully, with dash.] 
We're delighted to see you, Mrs. PhilHmore. I needn't 
ask you to make yourself at home, but will you have a 
cup of tea ? 

[Matthew 5z75 near little table. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 27 

VlDA. 

\_To Philip.] My dear, she's not in the least what I ex- 
pected. I heard she was a dove ! She's a very dashing 
kind of a dove ! [_To Cynthia ; comes to tea-table.'] My 
dear, I'm paying you comphments. Five lumps and 
quantities of cream. I find single hfe very thinning. [To 
Philip, very cairn and ready to be agreeable to any man.] 
And how well you're looking ! It must be the absence 
of matrimonial cares — or is it a new angel in the house ? 

Cynthia. 
[Outraged ^z/Vida's intrusion, but polite though deli- 
cately sarcastic] It's most amusing to sit in your place. 
And how at home you must feel here in this house where 
you have made so much trouble — I mean tea. [Rises.] 
Do you know it would be in much better taste if you 
would take the place you're accustomed to ? 

VlDA. 

[As calm as before.] My dear, I'm an intruder only for 
a moment ; I shan't give you a chance to score off me 
again ! But I must thank you, dear Philip, for rendering 
that decision in my favor 

Philip. 
I assure you 

ViDA. 

[Unable to resist a thrust at the close of this speech.] Of 
course, you would like to have rendered if against me. 
It was your wonderful sense of justice, and that's why 
I'm so grateful — if not to you, to your Maker ! 

Philip. 
[He feels that this is no place for his future wife. Rises 
quickly, goes up c. To Cynthia.] Cynthia, I would pre- 
fer that you left us. 

[Matthew comes to l. sofa and sits. 



28 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
{Determined not to leave the field first, remains seated^ 
Certainly, Philip ! 

Philip. 
I expect another visitor who 

ViDA. 

\With flattering insistence, to Cynthia.] Oh, my dear 
— don't go ! \yYi\\AY goes up l. c] The truth is — I came 
to see you ! I feel most cordially towards you — and 
really, you know, people in our position should meet on 
cordial terms. 

Cynthia. 

[flaking it with apparent calm, but pointing her re- 
marks.'\ Naturally. If people in our position couldn't 
meet, New York society would soon come to an end. 

\_Enter Thomas. 

ViDA. 

\Cahn, but getting her knife in too.'] Precisely. So- 
ciety's no bigger than a band-box. Why, it's only a 
moment ago I saw Mr. Karslake walking 

Cynthia. 
Ah ! 

Thomas. 
{Announcing clearly. Every one changes place, in con- 
sternation, ^amusement or surprise. Cynthia moves to 
leave the stage, but stops for fear of attracting Y^a.k^'LAK'e's 
attention.] Mr. John Karslake ! 

[Enter Karslake. He is a powerful, getierous 
pcrsojmlity, a man of affairs, breezy, gay and 
careless. He gives the i7npressioii of being game 
for ajiy fate in store for him. His clothes indi- 
cate sporting propensities aiid his taste in 
waistcoats and ties is brilliant. Karslake 
sees first Philip and then Matthew. Exit 
Thomas. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 29 

Philip. 
How do you do? 

John. 
\_Very gay and no respecter of persons.'] Good-afternoon, 
Mr. Phillimore. Hello — here's the church ! \_Crosses to 
Matthew and shakes hands. He slaps him on the back^ 
I hadn't the least idea — how are you ? By George, your 
reverence, that was a racy sermon of yours on Divorce ! 
What was your text ? \Sees Vida and bows, very politely.'] 
Galatians 4:2: "The more the merrier," or "Who 
next? " [^Smiles.'] As the whale said after Jonah ! 

[Cynthia makes a sudde7i movement, turns, ttirns 
cup over. John faces about quickly and they 
face each other. John gives a frank start. 
Pause. Tableau. 

John. 

\_Astounded, in a low voice.'] Mrs. Karslake 

l^Bows.] I was not aware of the pleasure in store for me. 
I understood you were in the country. [^Recovers, c?vsses 
to chair.] Perhaps you'll be good enough to make me a 
cup of tea?— that is if the teapot wasn't lost in the 
scrimmage. \_Pause. Cyi>^t\u.a, determined to equal hi?n 
in coolness, returns to the tea-tray.] Mr. Phillimore, I 
came to get your signature in that matter of Cox vs. 
Keely. 

Philip. 
I shall be at your service, but pray be seated. 

\_IIe indicates chair up table. 

John. 
\Sitting beyond but not far f^vm the tea-table.] And I 
also understood you to say you wanted a saddle horse. 

[_Sits R. corner. 

Philip. 
You have a mare called — eh — " Cynthia K " ? 



30 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
{^Promptly.l Yes — she's not for sale. 

Philip. 
Oh, but she's just the mare I had set my mind on. 

John. 
[^Witk a touch of htuiior.'\ You want her for yourself.'* 

Philip. 
\A little flustered.'] I — eh — I sometimes ride. 

John. 
\^He is sure of himself 7iow.'] She's rather lively for you 
Judge. Mrs. Karslake used to ride her. 

Philip. 
You don't care to sell her to me ? 

John. 
She's a dangerous mare, Judge, and she's as dehcate 
and changeable as a girl. I'd hate to leave her in your 
charge ! 

Cynthia. 
{^Eagerly but in a low voice.] Leave her in mine, Mr. 
Karslake ! 

John. 
[^After slight pause.] Mrs. Karslake knows all about a 

horse, but \Tur7iing to Cynthia.] Cynthia K's 

got rather tricky of late. 

Cynthia. 
\_Haughtily .] You mean to say you think she'd chuck 
me? 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 31 

John. 
[ With polite solicitude and still humorous. To Philip. J 
I'd hate to have a mare of mine deprive you of a wife, 
Judge. {Rises. CY-tiTHiK business of anger.'] She goes to 
Saratoga next week, C. W. 

ViDA, 

[ IVho has been sitting and talking to Matthew for 
lack of a better man, comes c. to talk to Karslake.J 
C. W.? 

John. 
[Rising as she rises.'] Creditors willing. 

Vida. 
[Crossing and sitting left of tea-table.] I'm sure your 
creditors are wiUing. 

John. 
Oh, they're a breezy lot, my creditors. They're giving 
me a dinner this evening. 

Vida. 
[More than usually a^ixious to please.] I regret I'm not 
a breezy creditor, but I do think you owe it to me to let 
me see your Cynthia K ! Can't you lead her around ta 
my house ? 

John. 
At what hour, Mrs. Phillimore ? 

Vida. 
Say eleven ? And you, too, might have a leading m. 
my direction — 771 Fifth Avenue. 

[John bows. Cynthia hears and notes this. 

Cynthia. 
Your cup of tea, Mr. Karslake. 



32 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
Thanks. [John gets tea and sips.'] I beg your pardon 
— you have forgotten, Mrs. Karslake — very naturally, it 
has sUpped from your memory, but I don't take sugar. 

[Cynthia, furious with him and herself. He 
hands cup back. She makes a second cup. 

Cynthia. 

\Cheerfully ; in a rage.] Sorry ! 

John. 
\_A/so apparetitly cheerful.] Yes, gout. It gives me a 
twmge even to sit in the shadow of a sugar maple ! First 
you riot, and then you diet ! 

ViDA. 

\Calni a?id amused; aside to Matthew.] My dear 
Matthew, he's a darling! But I feel as if we were all 
taking tea on the slope of a volcano ! 

[Matthew sits. 

Philip. 
It occurred to me, Mr. Karslake, you might be glad to 
find a purchaser for your portrait by Sargent? 

John. 
It's not my portrait. It's a portrait of Mrs. Kars- 
lake, and to tell you the truth — Sargent's a good fellow — 
I've made up my mind to keep it— to remember the artist 
by. 

[Cynthia is woioided by this. 

Philip. 

Hm! 

[Cynthia hands second cup to John. 

Cynthia. 
[ With careful politeness.] Your cup of tea, Mr. Kars- 
lake. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 33 

John. 
\_Rises ; takes tea with courteous indifference.'] Thanks 
— sorry to trouble you. 

[i% drinks the cup of tea standing by the tea-table. 

Philip. 
{To make cotiversation.'] You're selling your country 
place ? 

John. 
If I was long of hair — I'd sell that. 

Cynthia. 

{Excited. Taken out of herself by the news.] You're 
not really selling your stable ? 

John. 
{Finishes his tea, places empty cup on tea-table and re- 
seats himself 7\ Every gelding I've got — seven foals and 
a donkey ! I don't mean the owner. 

Cynthia. 
{Still interested and forgetting the discomfort of the sit- 
uation.] How did you ever manage to come such a 
cropper ? 

John. 
Streak of blue luck ! 

Cynthia. 
{Quickly.] I don't see how it's possible 

John. 
You would if you'd been there. You remember the 
head man ? {Sits:] Bloke ? 

Cynthia. 
Of course ! 



34 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
Well, his wife divorced him for beating her over the 
head with a bottle of Fowler's Solution, and it seemed to 
prey on his mind. He sold me 

Cynthia. 

\Horrifiedr\ Sold a race ? 

John. 
About ten races, I guess. 

Cynthia. 
\_Incrednloiis.'\ Just because he'd beaten his wife? 

John. 
No. Because she divorced him. 

Cynthia. 
Well, I can't see why that should prey on his mind ! 

[Suddenly remembers. 

John. 
Well, I have known men that it stroked the wrong 
way. But he cost me eighty thousand. And then Ur- 
banity ran third in the thousand dollar stakes for two- 
year-olds at Belmont. 

Cynthia. 
[She throws this remark m.] I never had faith in that 
horse. 

John. 
And, of course, it never rains monkeys but it pours 
gorillas ! So when I was down at St. Louis on the fifth, 
I laid seven to three on Fraternity 

Cynthia. 
Crazy ! Crazy ! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 35 

John. 
[Ready to take the opposite viewJ] I don't see it. With 
her record she ought to have romped it an easy winner. 

Cynthia. 
\_Fure sport. ~\ She hasn't the stamina! Look at her 
barrel ! 

John. 
Well, anyhow, Geranium finished me! 

Cynthia. 
You didn't lay odds on Geranium ! ^ 

John. 

Why not ? She's my own mare 

Cynthia. 
Oh! 

John. 

Streak o' bad luck 

Cynthia. 
[Plainly atixious to say '' I told you 5^."] Streak of 
poor judgment I Do you remember the day you rode 
Billy at a six foot stone wall, and he stopped and you 
didn't, and there w^as a hornet's nest [Matthew rises~\ on 
the other side, and I remember you were hot just because 
I said you showed poor judgment? [She laughs at the 
memory. A general movement of disapproval. She re- 
members the situation.'] I beg your pardon. 

Matthew. 
[Rises to meet Vida. Hastily.'] It seems to me that 
horses are like the fourth gospel. Any conversation 
about them becomes animated almost beyond the limits 
of the urbane 1 

[Vida disgusted by such plainness of speech, rises 
and goes to Philip who waves her to a chair Q. 



36 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Philip. 
\^For77ml.'\ I regret that you have endured such re- 
verses, Mr. Karslake. 

[John quietly bows. 

Cynthia. 

{Concealing her interest ; speaks casually. '\ You haven't 
mentioned your new English horse — Pantomime. What 
did he do at St. Louis ? 

John. 
[5//5.] Fell away and ran fifth. 

Cynthia. 
Too bad. Was he fully acchmated ? Ah, well 

John. 

We always differed — you remember — on the time 
needed 

Matthew. 
{Coming c. to Cynthia, speaking to carry off the situ- 
ation as well as to get a tip.'] Isn't there a — eh — a race to- 
morrow at Belmont Park ? 

John. 
Yes. I'm going down in my auto. 

Cynthia. 
{Evidently wishing she might be going too.'] Oh ! 

Matthew. 
And what animal shall you prefer? 

{Covering his personal interest with amiable altru' 
ism. 

John. 
I'm backing Carmencita. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 37 

Cynthia. 
{Gesture of despair. '\ Carmencita ! Carmencita ! 

[Matthew goes to Vida. 

John. 
You may remember we always differed on Carmencita. 

Cynthia. 
{Disgusted at John's dunderheadedness.'] But there's no 
room for difference. She's a wild, headstrong, dissatis- 
fied, foolish little filly. The deuce couldn't ride her — 
she'd shy at her own shadow — " Carmencita." Oh, 
very well then, I'll wager you — and I'll give you odds 
too — *' Decorum" will come in first, and I'll lay three to 
one he'll beat Carmencita by five lengths! How's that 
for fair ? 

John. 

{N'ez'er foygetting the situatio}i.~\ Sorry I'm not flush 
enough to take you. 

Cynthia. 
{Impetuously.'] Philip, dear, you lend John enough for 
the wager. 

Matthew. 
{As nearly horrified as so soft a soul can be.] 
Ahem ! Really 

John. 
It's a sporty idea, Mrs. Karslake, but perhaps in the 
circumstances 

Cynthia. 
{Her mind on her wager.] In what circumstances ? 

Philip. 
{With a nervous laugh.] It does seem to me there is a 
certain impropriety 



38 TEE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 

\_Remembering the conventions, which, for a moment, 
had actually escaped her.'\ Oh, I forgot. When horses 
are in the air 

Matthew. 

\Pouring oil on troubled waters. Crossing, he speaks 
toViDJ^ at back of armchair, where she sits.'\ It's the 
fourth gospel, you see. 

\_Enter Thomas with letter on salver, which he 
hands to Philip. 

Cynthia. 
\Meekly.'\ You are quite right, Phihp. \?Y{\\.\y goes 
up.'] The fact is, seeing Mr. Karslake again [laying on 
her indifference with a trowel'] he seems to me as much a 
stranger as if I were meeting him for the first time. 

Matthew. 
\_Aside to ViDA.] We are indeed taking tea on the 
slope of a volcano. 

ViDA. 

[Is about to go, but thinks she will have a last word 
with John.] I'm sorry your fortunes are so depressed, 
Mr. Karslake. 

Philip. 

{Looking at the card that Thomas has just brought in.] 
Who in the world is Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby ? 

[ General move. 

John. 
Oh — eh — Cates-Darby ? [Philip opens letter which 
Thomas has brought with card.] That's the English 
chap I bought Pantomime of. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 39 

Philip. 
[To Thomas.] Show Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby in. 

\_Exit Thomas. The prospect of aft Englishman 
with a handle to his name changes Vida's 
plans and instead of leaving the house, she goes 
to sofa, L. and sits there. 

John. 
He's a good fellow, Judge. Place near Epsom. 
Breeder. Over here to take a shy at our races, 

\_Enter Thomas. 

Thomas. 
{Announcing. '\ Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby. 

\E71ter Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby. He is a 
high-bred, sporting Ejtglishman. His inanner, 
his dress and his diciiofi are the pe?fection of 
English elegance. His movements are quick 
and graceful. He talks lightly and with ease. 
He is full of life and unsmiling good temper. 

Philip. 
\To Sir Wilfrid and referrifig to the letter of introduc- 
tion in his hand.'] I am Mr. PhiUimore. I am grateful to 
Stanhope for giving me the opportunity of knowing you, 
Sir Wilfrid. I fear you find it warm ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Delicately mopping his forehead.] Ah, well — ah — 
arm, no — hot, yes ! Deuced 
yours, you know, Mr. PhiUimore. 

Philip. 

[Conventional.] Permit me to present you to 

[The unco7iventio7ial situation pulls him up short. It takes 
him a moment to decide how to meet it. He makes up his 
mind to pretend that everything is as usual, and presents 
CYNTHiA^^r^/.] Mrs. Karslake. 

[Sir Wilfrid hows, surprised and doubtful. 



40 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
How do you do ? 

Philip, 
And to Mrs. Phillimore. [Vida bows nonchalantly, 
but with a view to catching Sir Wilfrid's attention. 
Sir Wilfrid bows, and looks from her to Philip.] My 
brother — and Mr. Karslake you know. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
How do, my boy. {^Half aside, to ]OYi^.~\ No idea you 

had such a charming little wife What? Eh? 

[Karslake goes up to speak to Matthew and 
Philip in the further room. 

Cynthia. 
You'll have a cup of tea, Sir Wilfrid ? 

Sir W^ilfrid. 
\At table -Si^l Thanks, awfully. {Very cheerfully. \ I'd 
no idea old John had a wife ! The rascal never told 
me ! 

Cynthia. 

\_Pouring tea and facing the facts. '\ I'm not Mr. Kars- 
lake 's wife ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Oh! Eh? I see 

{^Business of thinking it out. 

Vida. 

\_lVho has been ready for sojfte time to speak to him ?i^ 
Sir Wilfrid, I'm sure no one has asked you how you like 
our country ? 

Sir Wilfrid, 

\(joes to Vida and speaks, standing by her at sofa.'] Oh, 
well, as to climate and horses, I say nothing. But I like 
your American humor. I'm acquiring it for home pur- 
poses. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 41 

ViDA. 

\Getting down to love as the basis of conversation?^ 
Aren't you going to acquire an American girl for home 
purposes? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
The more narrowly I look the agreeable project in the 
face, the more I like it. Oughtn't to say that in the pres- 
ence of your husband. 

\_He casts a look at Philip, who has gone into the 
next room. 

ViDA. 

{Cheerful and unconstrained.'] He's not my hus- 
band ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{Completely confused.] Oh — eh? — my brain must be 
boiled. You are — Mrs.— eh — ah — of course, now. I see ! 
I got the wrong names ! I thought you were Mrs. 
PhiUimore, {He sits by her.] And that nice girl Mrs. 
Karslake ! You're deucedly lucky to be Mrs. Kars- 
lake. John's a prime sort. I say, have you and he got 
any kids? How many ? 

ViDA. 

{Horrified at being suspected of maternity, but speaking 
very sweetly.] He's not mf husband. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{His good spirits all gone, but determined to clear things 
Mp.] Phew! Awfully hot in here! Who the deuce is 
John's wife ? 

Vida. 

He hasn't any. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Who's Phillimore's wife? 



42 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

ViDA. 
He hasn't any. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Thanks, fearfully! \_To Matthew, 'who7n he approaches ; 
suspecting hi77iself of havifig lost his wits.'] Would 
you excuse me, my dear and Reverend Sir — you're a 
churchman and all that — would you mind straightening 
me out ? 

Matthew. 
\_Most gracious.'] Certainly, Sir Wilfrid. Is it a matter 
of doctrine ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Oh, damme — beg your pardon, — no, it's not words, it's 
women. 

Matthew. 
\_Ready to be outraged.] Women ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
It's divorce. Now, the lady on the sofa 

Matthew. 
Was my brother's wife ; he divorced her — incompati- 
bility — Rhode Island. The lady at the tea-table was Mr. 
Karslake's wife ; she divorced him — desertion — Sioux 
Falls. One moment — she is about to marry my brother. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Cheerful agaijt.] I'm out! Thought I never would 
be! Thanks'! 

[Vida laughs. 

ViDA. 

[Not a whit discouniena^iced aiid ready to please.] Have 
you got me straightened out yet ? 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 43 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Straight as a die ! I say, you had lots of fun, didn't 
you? [^Goes back to sofa; stajids.'] And so she s Mrs. 
John Karslake? 

ViDA. 

[^Caltn, but secretly disappointed?^ Do you hke her? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
My word ! 

ViDA. 

\Fidly expectifig personal fiattery. ] Eh ? 

Sir Wilfrid, 
She's a box o' ginger ! 

ViDA. 

You haven't seen many American women! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Oh, haven't I? 

ViDA. 

If you'll pay me a visit to-morrow — at twelve, you 
shall meet a most charming young woman, who has seen 
you once, and who admires you — ah ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
I'm there — what ! 

ViDA. 

Seven hundred and seventy -one Fifth Avenue. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Seven seventy-one Fifth Avenue — at twelve. 

ViDA. 

At twelve. 



44 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Thanks! [/«<^zVrt/^5 Cynthia.] She's a thoroughbred 
— you can see that with one eye shut. Twelve. \_Shakes 
hands.l Awfully good of you to ask me. \_Joms John.] 
I say, my boy, your former's an absolute certainty. \_lo 
Cynthia.] 1 hear you're about to marry Mr. Phillimore, 
Mrs. Karslake? 

[Karslake crosses to Vida ; they both go to sofa, 
left, where they sit. 

Cynthia. 
To-morrow, 3 p. m.. Sir Wilfrid. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{Much taken with Cynthia. To her. Sits R.] Afraid 
I've run into a sort of family party, eh? {Indicates 
ViDA.] The Past and the Future— awfully chic way you 
Americans have of asking your divorced husbands and 
wives to drop in, you know — celebrate a christenin', or 
the new bride, or 

Cynthia. 
Do you like your tea strong ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 



Middlin'. 
I Sugar ? 
One! 
Lemon ? 



Cynthia. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Cynthia. 



Sir Wilfrid. 
Just torture a lemon over it. {He ynakes a gesture as 
of twisting a lemoji peel. She gives tea."] Thanks ! So 
you do it to-morrow at three? 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 45 

Cynthia, 
At three, Sir Wilfrid. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
§orry ! 

Cynthia. 
Why are you sorry ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Hate to see a pretty woman married. Might marry 
her myself. 

Cynthia. 
Oh, but I'm sure you don't admire American women. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Admire you, Mrs. Karslake 

Cynthia. 
Not enough to marry me, I hope. 
Sir Wilfrid. 
Marry you in a minute ! Say the word. Marry you 
now — here. 

Cynthia. 
You don't think you ought to know me a little be- 
fore 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Know you ? Do know you. 

[Cynthia covering her hair with her 
handkerchief. 

Cynthia. 
What color is my hair ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Pshaw ! 



4t> THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
You see ! You don't know whether I'm a chestnut or 
a strawberry roan ! In the States we think a few months 
of friendship is quite necessary. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Few months of moonshine ! Never was a friend to a 
woman — thank God, in all my life. 

Cynthia. 
Oh— oh, oh ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Might as well talk about being a friend to a whiskey 
and soda. 

Cynthia. 
A woman has a soul, Sir Wilfrid. 
Sir Wilfrid. 
Well, good whiskey is spirits — dozens o' souls ! 

Cynthia. 
You are so gross ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\_Cha7iges seat to above table.'] Gross? Not a bit! 
Friendship between the sexes is all fudge ! I'm no 
friend to a rose in my garden. I don't call it friend- 
ship — eh — eh — a warm, starry night, moonbeams and 
ilex trees, " and a spirit who knows how" and all that 

— eh {^Getting closer to /ler.'] You make me feel 

awfully poetical, you know [Philip comes dowji, 

glances nervously at Cynthia and Sir Wilfrid, and 
"walks tip again.] What's the matter ? But, I say — poetry 

aside — do' you, eh \_^Looks around to place FuihiT.] 

Does he — y'know — is he — does he go to the head ? 

Cynthia. 
Sir Wilfrid, Mr. Philhmore is my sober second choice. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 47 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Did you ever kiss liim ? I'll bet he fined you for con- 
tempt of court. Look here, Mrs. Karslake, if you're 
marryin' a man you don't care about 

Cynthia. 

\_Amused and excusing his audacity as a foreigner s 
eccentricity^ Really ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Well, I don't offer myself 

Cynthia. 
Oh! 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Not this instant 

Cynthia. 
Ah! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
But let me drop in to-morrow at ten. 

Cynthia. 
What country and state of affairs do you think you 
have landed in ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
New York, by Jove ! Been to school, too. New 
York is bounded on the North, South, East and West by 
the state of Divorce 1 Come, come, Mrs. Karslake, I like 
your country. You've no fear and no respect — no can't 
and lots of can. Here you all are, you see — your former 
husband, and your new husband's former wife — sounds 
hke OUendoff !' Eh ? So there you are, you see ! But, 
jokin' apart — why do you marry him ? Oh, ,well, marry 
him if you must! You can run around the corner and 
get a divorce afterwards 



48 TEE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 

I believe you think they throw one in with an ice- 
cream soda ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 

\_Rises.'] Damme, my dear lady, a marriage in your 
country is no more than a — eh — eh — what do you call 
'em? A thank you, ma'am. That's what an American 
marriage is — a thank you, ma'am. Bump — bump — you're 
over it and on to the next. 

Cynthia. 
You're an odd fish ! What ? I believe I like you ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 

'Course you do ! You'll see me when I call to-morrow 
— at ten ? We'll run down to Belmont Park, eh ? 

Cynthia. 
Don't be absurd ! 

ViDA. 

\_Has finished her talk with John, and breaks in 
on Sir Wilfrid, who has hung about Cynthia too iotig 
to suit her.'] To-morrow at twelve, Sir Wilfrid ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Twelve ! 

[ Crossing down L. 

ViDA. 

{Shakes hands with John.] Don't forget, Mr. Kars- 
lake — eleven o'clock to-morrow. 

John. 

{Bows assent.] I won't ! 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 49 

ViDA. 

\_Comes to the middle of the stage and speaks to 
Cynthia.] Oh, Mrs. Karslake, I've ordered Tiffany to 
send you something. It's a sugar bowl to sweeten the 
matrimonial lot ! I suppose nothing would induce you to 
call? 

Cynthia. 
{^Distant and careless of offending^l Thanks, no — that 
is, is "Cynthia K" really to be there at eleven ? I'd give 
a gold mine to see her again. 

ViDA. 

{Above chair.'] Do come ! 

Cynthia. 
If Mr. Karslake will accommodate me by his absence. 

ViDA. 

Dear Mr. Karslake, you'll have to change your hour. 

John. 
Sorry, I'm not able to, 

Cynthia. 
I can't come later for I'm to be married. 

John. 
It's not as bad as that with me, but I am to be sold 
up — Sheriff, you know. Can't come later than eleven. 

ViDA. 

\_To Cynthia.] Any hour but eleven, dear. 

Cynthia. 
{Perfectly regardless of Vida, and ready to vex John 
if possible.] Mrs. Phillimore, I shall call on you at 
eleven — to see Cynthia K. I thank you for the invita- 
tion. Good-afternoon. 



50 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

ViDA. 

\_Astde to John, crossing to speak quietly to himi\ It's 
mere bravado ; she won't come. 

John. 
You don't know her. 

\Pause. General embarrassment. Sir Wilfrid 
business with eye-glass. JOHN angry. Cynthia 
triionphani. Matthew embarrassed. Vida 
irritated. VYiWAY puzzled. Everybody at odds. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

\For the first time a witness to the pretty compiicatio7is 
of divorce ; to Matthew.] Do you have it as warm as 
this ordinarily ? 

Matthew. 

\For whom these inoments are inore than tisually pain- 
ful, a^td wiping his brow.'] It's not so much the heat as 
the humidity. 

John. 

\_Looks at watch ; glad to be off.] I shall be late for my 
creditors' dinner. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

\_Comes down.] Creditors' dinner. 

John. 

\^Reads note.] Fifteen of my sporting creditors have 
arranged to give me a blow-out at Sherry's, and I'm ex- 
pected right away or sooner. And by the way, I was to 
bring my friends — if I had any. So now's the time to 
stand by me ! Mrs. Phillimore ? 

Vida. 

Of course ! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 51 

John, 
\_Ready to embarrass Cynthia, if possible, and speaking 
as if he had quite forgotten their foriner relations. '\ Mrs. 
Karslake— I beg your pardon. Judge ? [Philip de- 
clittes.'] No ? Sir Wilfrid ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
I'm with you ! 

John. 
[7b Matthew.] Your Grace ? 

Matthew. 

I regret 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Is it the custom for creditors 

John. 

Come on, Sir Wilfrid ! [Thomas opens door.'\ Good- 
night, Judge — Your Grace 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Is it the custom 

John. 
Hang the custom ! Come on — I'll show you a gang 
of creditors worth having ! 

[Exit Sir Wilfrid with John, atm in arm, pre- 
ceded by Vida. Matthew crosses, smiling, as 
if pleased, in a Christian tvay, with this display 
of generous gaiety . Looks at his watch. 

Matthew. 
Good gracious ! I had no idea the hour was so late. 
I've been asked to a meeting with Maryland and Iowa, 
to talk over the divorce situation. [Exit. Voice heard 
off.'\ Good-afternoon ! Good-afternoon ! 



52 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

[Cynthia evidently much excited. The outer door 
slams. Philip cotties down slowly. Cynthia 
stands, her eyes wide, her breathing visible, 
until Philip speaks, when she seems suddenly 
to realize her position. A long pause. 

Philip. 

\_Superior.~\ I have seldom witnessed a more amazing 
cataclysm of jocundity ! Of course, my dear, this has 
all been most disagreeable for you. 

Cynthia. 
[^Excitedly.'] Yes, yes, yes ! 

Philip. 
I saw how much it shocked your delicacy. 

Cynthia. 

[^Distressed a7id moved.'\ Outrageous. 

[Philip sits. 

Philip. 

Do be seated, Cynthia. {Takes up paper. Quietly ^^ 
Very odd sort of an Englishman — that Cates-Darby ! 

Cynthia. 

Sir Wilfrid? — Oh, yes ! [Philip settles down to paper. 
To her self. '\ Outrageous ! I've a great mind to go at 
eleven — ^just as I said I would ! 

Philip. 
Do sit down, Cynthia! 

Cynthia. 
What? What? 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 53 

Philip. 
You make me so nervous 

Cynthia. 
Sorry — sorry. 

[She sits, sees paper, takes it, looks at picture of 
John Karslake. 

Philip. 
{Sighs with content.'] Ah ! now that I see him, I don't 
wonder you couldn't stand him. There's a kind of — ah 
— spontaneous inebriety about him. He is incompre- 
hensible ! If I might with reverence cross question 
the Creator, I would say to him : " Sir, to what end 
or purpose did you create Mr. John Karslake?" 
I believe I should obtain no adequate answer ! How- 
ever [sighs,] at last we have peace — and the Post! 
[Philip settles himself, reads paper ; Cynthia looks at 
her paper, occasionally looks across at Philip.] Forget 
the dust of the arena — the prolixity of counsel — the in- 
voluntary fatuity of things in general. [Pause. He 
reads.] Compose yourself! 

[Miss Heneage, Mrs. Phillimore and Grace 
enter. Cynthia sighs without letting her sigh 
be heard. Tries to compose herself. Glances at 
paper and then hearing Miss Heneage, 
starts slightly. Miss Heneage and Mrs. 
Phillimore stop at table. 

Miss Heneage. 
[She carries a sheet of paper.] There, my dear Mary, 
is the announcement as I have now reworded it. I took 
William's suggestion. [Mrs. Phillimore fakes and 
casually reads it.] I also put the case to him, and he was 
of the opinion that the announcement should be sent 
only to those people who are really in society. 

[Sits above table. Cynthia braces herself to bear 
the Phillimore conversation. 



54 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Grace. 
I wish you'd make an exception of the Dudleys. 

[Cynthia rises and crosses to chair k. of l. table. 

Miss Heneage. 
And, of course, that excludes the Oppenheims — the 
Vance-Browns. 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
It's just as well to be exclusive. 

Grace. 
I do wish you'd make an exception of Lena Dudley. 

Miss Heneage. 
We might, of course, include those new Girardos, and 
possibly — possibly the Paddingtons. 

Grace. 
I do wish you would take in Lena Dudley. 

{They are now sitting. 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
The mother Dudley is as common as a charwoman, 
and not nearly as clean. 

Philip. 
\Sighs. His own feelings as usual to the fore.'] Ah ! I 
certainly am fatigued ! 

[Cynthia begins to slowly crush the newspaper 
she has been reading with both hands, as if the 
effor't of self repression were too much for her. 

Miss Heneage. 
\J\daking the best of a gloomy future.] We shall have to 
■:ask the Dudleys sooner or later to dine, Mary — because 
-of the elder girl's marriage to that dissolute French 
Marquis. 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 55 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
[^Plaintively.'] I don't like common people any more 
than I like common cats, and of course in my time 

Miss Heneage. 
I think I shall include the Dudleys. 
Mrs. Phillimore. 
You think you'll include the Dudleys ? 

Miss Heneage. 
Yes, I think I will include the Dudleys ! 

\_Here Cynthia gives up. Driven desperate by 
their chatter, she has slowly rolled her news- 
paper into a ball, and at this point tosses it 
violently to the floor and bursts into hysterical 
laughter. 

Mrs. Phillimore. 

Why, my dear Cynthia Compose yourself. 

Philip. 
{Hastily^] What is the matter, Cynthia ? 

[ They speak together. General movement. 

Miss Heneage. 
Why, Mrs. Karslake, what is the matter? 

Grace. 
\Comes quickly forward, saying.] Mrs. Karslake ! 



curtain. 



THE SECOND ACT 

SCENE. — Mrs. Vida Phillimore's boudoir. The room 
is furnished to please an empty-headedy pleasure-loving 
and fashionable woman. The furniture ^ the orna- 
ments, what pictures there are, all witness to taste upfi- 
to-date. Two French windows open on to a balcony, 
from which the trees of Central Park can be seen. 
There is a table between them ; a mirror, a scent 
bottle, etc., upon it. On the right, up stage, is a door ; 
on the right, down stage, another door. A ladys 
writing table stands between the two, nearer centre of 
stage. There is another door up stage, l. ; below it, 
L., an open fireplace, filled with potted plants, and- 
irons, etc., not in use. Over it a tall mirror ; on the 
mantelpiece a French clock, candelabra, vases, etc. On 
a line with the fireplace, a lounge, gay with silk -pil- 
lows. A fiorist^s box, large and long, filled with 
American Beauty roses, on a low table near the head 
of the lounge. Small tables and light chairs where 
needed. 

\_At rise, Benson is discovered up stage looking about 
her. She is a neat and pretty little English 
ladfs maid in black silk and a thin apron. She 
comes down stage still looking about, goes l. and 
sees fiozver box ; then goes r., opens door and 
speaks off. 

56 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 57 

Benson. 
Yes, ma'am, the flowers have come. 

[She holds the door, R., open. Vida, iti a morn- 
ing gown, enters R. , slowly, and comes C. She 
is sinoki7ig a cigarette in as cesthetic a manner 
as she can, and is evidently turned out in her 
best style for cotiquest. 

ViDA. 

[C, back to audience, always calm and, though civil, a 
little disdainful of her servants^ Terribly garish hght, 

Benson. Pull down the [Benson obeysi^ Lower 

still — that will do. \_As she speaks, she goes about the 
room, givifig the furniture a push here and there, arrang- 
ifig vases, etc.'] Men hate a clutter of chairs and tables. 
[Stops before table at c. and takes tip hand ?nirror, stand- 
ing with back to audience.] I really think I'm too pale for 
this light. 

Benson. 
[ Quickly, understanding what is iinplied. ] Yes , ma' am . 
[Benson exits r. Vida sits c, table r. Knock at door 
up L.] Come I 

[Enter Brooks. 

Brooks. 

[An ultra English footman, in plush atid calves.] Any 
borders, m'lady? 

Vida. 
[Incapable of remembering the last man, or of consider- 
ing the new one.] Oh, — of course ! You're the new 

Brooks. 
Footman, m'lady. 

Vida. 
[As a matter of form^ Your name ? 



58 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Brooks. 
Brooks, m'lady. 

{Reenter Benson with rouge. 

ViDA. 

\Carefully giving instructions while she keeps her eyes 
on the glass and is rouged by Benson.] Brooks, I am at 
home to Mr. Karslake at eleven, not to any one else till 
twelve, when I expect Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby. 

[Brooks is inattentive ; watches Benson. 

Brooks. 
Yes, m'lady. 

ViDA. 

\^Calm, but wearied by the ignorance of the lower classes J\ 
And I regret to inform you, Brooks, that in America there 
are no ladies, except salesladies ! 

Brooks. 
\_Without a trace of comprehension.'] Yes, m'lady. 

ViDA. 

I am at home to no one but the two names I have 
mentioned. [Brooks bows and exits up l. She dabs on 
rouge while Benson holds glass.] Is the men's club room 
in order ? 

Benson. 
Perfectly, ma'am. 

ViDA. 

Whiskey and soda ? 

Benson. 
Yes, ma'am, and the ticker's been mended. The 
British sporting papers arrived this morning. 

ViDA. 

[^Looking at her watch which lies on the dressing table.] 
My watch has stopped. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 59 

Benson. 
[Glancing at the French clock on the chimney-piece."] 
Five to eleven, ma'am. 

\_Co??tes down a little, R. 

ViDA. 

[Getting promptly to wor/e.'] Hm, hm, I shall be caught. 
[Rises and crosses R.] The box of roses, Benson ! [Ben- 
son brings the box of roses, u7icovers the flowers and places 
them atMn^A's side.] My gloves — the cHppers, and the 
vase ! [Each of these things Benson places in turn within 
Vida's range where she sits on the sofa. She has the long 
box of roses at her side on a small table, a vase of water 
on the floor by her side. She cuts the stems and places the 
roses in the vase. Wheti she feels that she has reached a 
picturesque position, in which any oiilooker would see in 
her a creature filled with the love of flowers and of her 
fellow ma7i, she says /] There ! 

[The door opens and Brooks enters ; Vida nods 
to Benson. 

Brooks. 
[Announcing stolidly.] Sir John Karslake. 

[Enter John, dressed in very nobby riding togs, 
crop, etc., and spurs. He comes i?i gaily and 
forcibly. Benson gives way, r. , as he comes 
down. Exeunt Brooks and Benson. John 
stops near table, l. Vida, fnmi this point on, 
• is busied with her roses. 

Vida. 
[Langourously , but with a faint suggestion of humor.] 
Is that really you. Sir John ? 

John. 
[Lively and far from being impressed by Vida.] I see 
now where we Americans are going to get our titles. 
Good-morning ! You look as fresh as paint. 

[Takes chair from l. to R. C. 



60 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

ViDA. 

\_Facing the insinuation with gentle pain.'\ I hope you 
don't mean that? I never flattered myself for a moment 
you'd come. You're riding Cynthia K? 

John. 

[^IVho has laid his gloves and riding crop on table, c] 
Fiddler's going to lead her round here in ten minutes ! 

ViDA. 

Cigars and cigarettes ! Scotch ? 

\She indicates that he will find them on a small 
table up stage. 

John. 
Scotch ! 

\_Goes up quickly to table and helps himself to 
Scotch and seltzer. 

ViDA. 

And now do tell me all about her ! 

[Putting in her last roses ; she keeps one rosebud 
in her hand, of a size suitable for a ina7i s but- 
tonhole. 

John. 

\As he drinks.^ Oh, she's an adorable creature — deli- 
cate, high-bred, sweet-tempered 

ViDA. 

[^Showing her claws for a moinentT^ Sweet-tempered ? 
Oh, you're describing the horse ! By " her," I meant 

John. 
[Irritated by the remembrance of his wife.~\ Cynthia 
Karslake ? I'd rather talk about the last Tornado. 

[Sits, 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 61 

ViDA. 

\Soothing the savage beast. '\ There is only one thing I 
want to talk about, and that is, you ! Why were you 
unhappy ? 

John. 
{Still cross.^ Why does a dollar last such a short 
time ? * 

ViDA. 

ICun'ous.'] Why did you part ? 
John. 

Did you ever see a schooner towed by a tug ? Well, 
I parted from Cynthia for the same reason that the 
hawser parts from the tug — I couldn't stand the tug. 

ViDA. 

{Sympathizing.'] Ah ! 

{Pause. 

John. 
{Still cross .'l Awful cheerful morning chat. 

ViDA. 

{Excusing her curiosity and coming back to love as the 
07ily subject for serious conversation.] I must hear the 
story, for I'm anxious to know why I've taken such a 
fancy to you ! 

John. 
{Very nonchalantly.'] Why do / like you ? 

ViDA. 

{Doing her best to charm.] I won't tell you — it would 
flatter you too much. 

John. 
{lYot a bit impressed by ViDA, but as ready to flirt as 
another.] Tell me ! 



62 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

ViDA. 

There's a rose for you. 

[Giving him the one she has in her hand, 

John. 
\_Saying what is plainly expected of him.'] I want more 
than a rose 

ViDA. 

[Flitting this insinuation by.] You refuse to tell 
me ? 

John. 
[Once more reminded ^Cynthia, speaks with sudden 
feeling.] There's nothing to tell. We met, we loved, 
we married, we parted ; or at least we wrangled and 
jangled. [Sighs.] Ha! Why weren't we happy .'* Don't 
ask me, why ! It may have been partly my fault I 

ViDA. 

[ With tenderness.] Never ! 

John. 
[His mind on Cynthia.] But I believe it's all in the 
way a girl's brought up. Our girls are brought up to be 
ignorant of life — they're ignorant of life. Life is a joke, 

and marriage is a picnic and a man is a shawl-strap 

Ton my soul, Cynthia Deane— no, I can't tell you ! 

[Rises and goes up. During the following, he 
walks about in his irritation. 

ViDA. 

[Gently:] Please tell me ! 

John. 
Well, she was an heiress, an American heiress — and 
she'd been taught to think marriage meant burnt 
almonds and moonshine and a yacht and three auto- 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 63. 

mobiles, and she thought — I don't know what she 
thought, but I tell you, Mrs. Phillimore, marriage is 
three parts love and seven parts forgiveness of sins. 

\_Crosses c. 

ViDA. 

[Flattering him as a matter of course. '\ She never 
loved you. 

John. 
\0n whom she has made jio impression at all. '^ Yes, she 
did. For six or seven months there was not a shadow- 
between us. It was perfect, and then one day she went 
off like a pistol-shot ! I had a piece of law work and 
couldn't take her to see Flashlight race the Maryland 
mare. The case meant a big fee, big Kudos, and in 
sails Cynthia, Flashlight mad ! And will I put on my 
hat and take her ? No — and bang she goes off hke a 
stick o' dynamite — what did I marry her for? — and words 
— pretty high words, until she got mad, when she threw 
over a chair and said oh, well, — marriage was a failure* 
or it was with me, so I said she'd better try somebody 
else. She said she would, and marched out of the 
room. 

[Back to L. 

ViDA. 

[Gently sarcastic.'] But she came back! 

John. 
She came back, but not as you mean. She stood at 
the door and said, "Jack, I shall divorce you." Then 
she came over to my study -table, dropped her wedding 
ring on my law papers, and went out. The door shut, I 
laughed ; the front door slammed, I damned. [Pause ;. 
crosses to Tvindow.'] She never came back. 

[Goes up, then comes dovjn to chair R. ViDA 
catches his hands. 



64 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

ViDA. 

\Hoping for a contradiction. '\ She's broken your 
heart. 

John. 

Oh, no ! 

{Crosses to chair by lowige. 

ViDA. 

\_Encouraged, begins to play the game again.'] You'll 
never love again ! 

John. 
\_Speaking to her from the foot of her sofa.] Try me ! 
Try me ! Ah, no, Mrs. Phillimore, I shall laugh, live, 
love and make money again ! And let me tell you one 
thing — I'm going to rap her one over the knuckles. She 
liad a stick of a Connecticut lawyer, and he — well, to 
cut a legal story short, since Mrs. Karslake's been in 
Europe, I have been quietly testing the validity of the 
decree of divorce. Perhaps you don't understand? 

ViDA. 

[Letting her innate shrewdness appea7\\ Oh, about a 
divorce, everything ! 

John. 
I shall hear by this evening whether the divorce will 
stand or not. 

ViDA. 

But it's to-day at three she marries— you won't let her 
commit bigamy ? 

John. 

\Shakes his head.] I don't suppose I'd go as far as 
that. It may be the divorce will hold, but anyway 1 
iiope never to see her again. 

\_He sits beside her facing up stage as %he faces 
down. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 65 



ViDA. 



Ah, my poor boy, she has broken your heart. \_Believ- 
ing that this is her psychological moment, she lays her ha7id 
071 his arm, but draws it back as sooti as he attempts to 
take it.~\ Now don't make love to me. 

John. 

\_Bold a7td a77iused, but 7iever taken in.'\ Why not ? 

ViDA. 

\\Vith i7n7ne7ise gentle7iess.'\ Because I hke you too 
much ! \_More gaily.'] I might give in, and take a no- 
tion to hke you still more ! 

John. 
Please do ! 

ViDA. 

\_lVith gush and determi7ied to be womanly at all 
hazards.] Jack, I believe you'd be a lovely lover! 

John. 
\_As before 7\ Try me ! 

ViDA. 

S^Not hopi7ig 7nuch from his toJte.] You charming, 
tempting, delightful fellow, I could love you without the 
least effort in the world, — but, no ! 

John. 
\Playi7ig the ga7ne.~\ Ah, well, now seriously! Be- 
tween two people who have suffered and made their own 
mistakes 

ViDA. 

\_Playing the ga77ie too, but fiat playi7ig it well.] But 
you see, you don't really love me ! 



66 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 

\_StiIl ready to say what is expected^] Cynthia — Vida, 
no man can sit beside you and look into your eyes with- 
out feehng 

Vida. 

\_Speaks the truth as she sees it, seeing that her methods 
don t succeed. '\ Oh! That's not love ! That's simply — 
well, my dear Jack, it's beginning at the wrong end. 
And the truth is you hate Cynthia Karslake with such a 
whole-hearted hate, that you haven't a moment to think 
of any other woman. 

John. 

\With sudden anger. '\ I hate her ! 
Vida. 

{Very softly and inost sweetly .'I Jack — Jack, I could be 
as foolish about you as — oh, as foohsh as anything, my 
dear ! And perhaps some day — perhaps some day you'll 
come to me and say, Vida, 'l am totally indifferent to 
Cynthia — and then 

John. 
And then ? 

Vida. 

\The ideal woman in 7nind.'] Then, perhaps, you and I 

may join hands and stroll together into the Garden of 

Eden. It takes two to find the Garden of Eden, you 

know — and once we're on the inside, we'll lock the gate. 

John. 
l^Gaily, and seeing straight through her veneer.'] And 
lose the key under a rose-bush ! 

Vida. 

[Agreeing very softly?^ Under a rose-bush ! [ Very 
soft knock R,] Come ! 

[John rises quickly. Enter Benson and 
Brooks, l. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 67 

Brooks. 

\StoHd and atinounci7ig.'\ My lady — Sir Wilf 

[Benson stops him with a sharp movement and 
turns toward Vida. 

Benson. 
[IVzth intention.'] Your dressmaker, ma'am. 

[Benson waves Brooks to go. Exit Brooks, l., 
very haughtily. 

Vida. 
\_Wonde?ingiy.'] My dressmaker, Benson? \_With quick 
intelligence.] Oh, of course, show her up. Mr. Kars- 
lake, you won't mind for a few minutes using my men's 
club room? Benson will show you ! You'll find cigars 
and the ticker, sporting papers, whiskey ; and, if you want 
anything special, just 'phone down to my "chef." 

John. 
\Looking at his watch.] How long ? 

Vida. 
{Very anxious to please.] Half a cigar! Benson will 
call you. 

John. 
{Practical.] Don't make it too long. You see, there's 
my sheriff's sale on at twelve, and those races this after- 
noon. Fiddler will be here in ten minutes, remember ! 

\_Door L. opens. 
Vida. 
\To John.] Run along ! {Exit John. Vida siiddmly 
practical, and with a broad gesture to Benson.] Every- 
thing just as it was, Benson ! [Benson whisks the roses 
out of the vase and replaces thejn in the box. She gives 
Vida scissors and empty vases, and when ViDA finds her- 
self in precisely the same position which preceded jon's's 
eji trance, she says :] There ! 

{Enter Brooks, as Vida takes a rose from basket. 



68 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Brooks. 
[Stolidly.'l Your ladyship's dressmaker ! M'lady ! 

[Enter Sir Wilfrid t?i morning suit, bouton- 
?iiere, etc. 

ViDA. 

[ With tender surprise and busy with the roses."] Is that 
really you, Sir Wilfrid ! I never flattered myself for an 
instant that you'd remember to come. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Coming to her above end of sofa.] Come? 'Course I 
come ! Keen to come see you. By Jove, you know, 
you look as pink and white as a huntin' mornin'. 

ViDA. 

[Ready to make any man as happy as possible.] You'll 
smoke ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Thanks ! [He watches her as she trims and arrajiges 
the flozoers.] Awfully long fingers you have ! Wish I 
was a rose, or a ring, or a pair of shears ! I say, d' you 
ever notice what a devil of a fellow I am for originality, 
what? [Co7}tes down to L. Unlike John, is evidently im- 
pressed by her.] You've got a delicate little den up here ! 
Not so much low livin' and high thinkin', as low lights 
and no thinkin' at all, I hope — eh ? 

[To C. By this time Vida has filled a vase with 
roses and rises to sweep by him and if possible 
make a7iother charming picture to his eyes. 

Vida. 
You don't mind my moving about ? 

[Crosses R. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Ifnpressed.] Not if you don't mind my watchin'. [Sits 
R., on sofa.] And sayin' how well you do it. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 69 

ViDA. 

It's most original of you to come here this morning. I 
don't quite see why you did. 

[She places the roses here and there, as if to see 
their effect, and leaves them on a small table 
near the door through which her visitors entered. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Admiration. 

ViDA. 

{Sauntering slowly toward the niirror as she speaks?^ 
Oh, I saw that you admired her! And of course, she did 
say she was coming here at eleven ! But that was only 
bravado! She won't come, and besides, I've given 
orders to admit no one ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 

May I ask you 

\He throws this in in the middle of her speech, 
which flows gently and steadily on. 

ViDA. 

And indeed, if she came now, Mr. Karslake has gone, 
and her sole object in coming was to make him uncom- 
fortable. \Jjoes up above table, L, ; stoppi?ig a half 7nin- 
ute at the mir7'or to see that she looks as she wishes to look.~\ 
Very dangerous symptom, too, that passionate desire to 
make one's former husband unhappy ! But, I can't 
believe that your admiration for Cynthia Karslake is so 
warm that it led you to pay me this visit a half hour too 
early in the hope of seeing 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Rises ; most civil, but speaking his jnind like a Briton-I 
I say, would you mind stopping a moment ! [She smiles.^ 
I'm not an American, you know ; I was brought up not 
to interrupt. But you Americans, it's different with you! 
If somebody didn't interrupt you, you'd go on forever. 



70 TEE NEW YORK IDEA 

ViDA. 

\She passes him to lantaiize.~\ My point is you come to 
see Cynthia 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\^He believes she means it.'\ I came hopin' to see 

ViDA. 

\_As before.'] Cynthia ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[^Perfectly single-minded and entirely taken in.'\ But I 
would have come even if I'd known 

ViDA. 

\Crosses c] I don't believe it ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{As before.] Give you my word I 

ViDA. 

{The same.] You're here to see her! And of course 

Sir Wilfrid. 

{Determined to be heard because, after all, he" s a man.] 
May I have the— eh— the floor? [Vida sits in chair, L.] 
I was jolly well bowled over with Mrs. Karslake, I admit 
that, and I hoped to see her here, but 

Vida. 
{Talking nonsense and knowing it.] You had another 
object in coming. In fact, you came to see Cynthia, and 
you came to see me ! What I really long to know, is 
why you wanted to see me I For, of course, Cynthia's to 
be married at three ! And, if she wasn't she wouldn't 
have you ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{Not intending to womid ; merely speaking the fiat 
truth.] Well, I mean to jolly well ask her. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 11 

ViDA. 

\_Jndtgna7tt.'] To be your wife ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[c] Why not ? 

ViDA. 

\_As before^ And you came here, to my house — in 
order to ask her 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{Truthful even on a subtle point.'] Oh, but that's only 
my first reason for coming, you know. 

ViDA. 

{Concealing her hopes.] Well, now I am curious — what 
is the second? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{Simply.] Are you feelin' pretty robust ? 

ViDA. 

I don't know ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{Crosses R. to buffet.] Will you have something, and 
then I'll tell you ! 

Vida. 
{Gaily,] Can't I support the news without 

Sir Wilfrid. 

{Tryijig to explain his state of mind, a thing he has 
never been able to do.] Mrs. Phillimore, you see it's this 
way. Whenever you're lucky, you're too lucky. Now, 
Mrs. Karslake is a nipper and no mistake, but as I told 
you, the very same evenin' and house where I saw 

her 

{He attempts to take her hand. 



72 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

ViDA. 

\GeniIy rising and affecting a tender surprise^ What ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\Rising with her.^ That's it ! — You're over ! 

\^He suggests with his right hattd the tnovement of 
a horse taking a hurdle. 

ViDA. 

\yery sweetly. '\ You don't really mean 

Sir Wilfrid. 

\_Carried away for the moment by so much true womanli- 
ness. '\ I mean, I stayed awake for an hour last night, 
thinkin' about you. 

ViDA. 

[Speaking to be contradicted.'] But, you've just told 

me — that Cynthia 

Sir Wilfrid. 

{Admitting the fact. ~\ Well, she did — she did bowl my 
wicket, but so did you 

ViDA. 

[Taking him very gently to task.] Don't you think 
there's a limit to [Sits. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Roused by so much loveliness of soul.] Now, see here, 
Mrs. Phillimore ! You and I' are not bottle babies, eh, 
are we? You've been married and — I — I've knocked 
about, and we both know there's a lot of stuff talked 
about — eh, eh, well, you know : — the one and only — that 
a fellow can't be awfully well smashed by two at the 
same time don't you know ! All rubbish ! You know 
it, and the proof of the puddin's in the eatin', I am ! 

Vida. 
[As before.] May I ask where I come in ? 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 73 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Well, now, Mrs. Phillimore, I'll be frank with you, 
Cynthia's my favorite, but you're runnin' her a close 
second in the popular esteem ! 

ViDA. 

[^Laughs, determined not to take offense.'] What a de- 
lightful, original, fantastic person you are ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{^Frankly happy that he has explained everything so 
neatly.'] 1 knew you'd take it that way ! 

ViDA. 

And what next, pray ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Oh, just the usual, — eh, — thing, — the — eh — the same 
old question don't you know. Will you have me if she 
don't? 

ViDA. 

\_A shade piqued, but determined not to risk showing z?.] 
And you call that the same old usual question ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Yes, I know, but — but will you ? I sail in a week ; we 
can take the same boat. And — eh — eh — my dear Mrs. 
— mayn't I say Vida, I'd like to see you at the head of 
my table. 

Vida. 
\With velvet irony.] With Cynthia at the foot? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\_Practical, as before.] Never mind Mrs. Karslake, — I 
admire her — she's — but you have your own points! And 
you're here, and so'm I ! — damme I offer myself, and my 



74 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

affections, and I'm no icicle, my dear, tell you that for a 
fact, and, and in fact what's your answer ! — [Vida sighs 
a7id shakes her head.'] Make it, yes ! I say, you know, 

my dear Vida 

\_//e catches her hands. 

Vida. 

\_She slips them from him.] Unhand me, dear villain ! 
And sit further away from your second choice ! What 
can 1 say? I'd rather have you for a lover than any 
man I know ! You must be a lovely lover! 

Sir Wilfrid. 

I am! 

\He makes a second effort to catch her fingers. 

Vida. 
Will you kindly go further away and be good 1 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\_Quite forgetting Cynthia.] Look here, if you say yes, 

we'll be married 

Vida. 
In a month ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Oh, no — this evening ! 

Vida. 
\Incapable of leaving a situation unadorned 7] This even- 
ing ! And sail in the same boat with you ? And shall 
we sail to the Garden of Eden and stroll into it and lock 
the gate on the inside and then lose the key — under a 
rose-bush ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[^Pauses, and after consideration, says .•] Yes ; yes, I 
say — that's too clever for me ! 

\He draws nearer to her to bring the miderstand- 
ing to a crisis. 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 75 

ViDA. 

\Sqft knock up l.] My maid — come ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\_Swings out of his chair and goes to sofa.'] Eh ? 

\_Enter Benson up l. 

Benson. 
\_To ViDA.] The new footman, ma'am — he's made a 
mistake. He's told the lady you're at home. 

ViDA. 

What lady? 

Benson. 
Mrs. Karslake ; and she's on the stairs, ma'am. 

ViDA. 

Show her in. 

[Sir Wilfrid has been turning over the roses. 
On hearing this, he faces about with a long 
stetnmed o?ie in his hand. He uses it in the 
' following scene to point his remarks. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Ti? Benson, who stops.] One moment! [Zt? Vida.] 
I say, eh — I'd rather not see her ! 

Vida. 
[ Very innocently 7\ But you came here to see her. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\A little flustered.] I'd rather not. Eh, — I fancied 
I'd find you and her together — but her — \comes a step 
nearer] findin' me with you looks so dooced intimate, 
— no one else, d'ye see, I believe she'd — draw conclu- 
sions 

Benson. 
Pardon me, ma'am — but I hear Brooks coming ! 



76 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\To Benson.] Hold the door ! 

ViDA. 

So you don't want her to know ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\_To ViDA.] Be a good girl now — run me off some- 
where ! 

ViDA. 

[To Benson.] Show Sir Wilfrid the men's room. 

\_Ejiter Brooks, l. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
The men's room ! Ah ! Oh ! Eh ! 

ViDA. 

\_Beckons him to go at ojtce.'] Sir Wil 

\_He hesitates, then as Brooks comes on, he flings 
off with Benson. 

Brooks. 
Lady Karslake, milady ! 

ViDA. 

Anything more inopportune ! I never dreamed she'd 

come [Enter Cynthia, veiled. She comes down 

quickly. Langourously ^ My dear Cynthia, you don't 
mean to say 

Cynthia. 
[Rather short, and visibly agitated.^ Yes, I've come. 

Vida. 
[Polite, but not urgent.'] Do take off your veil. 

Cynthia. 
[Doing as Vida asks.] Is no one here ? 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 77 

ViDA. 

[As before.'] Won't you sit down ? 

Cynthia. 

\_Agitaied and suspicious.] Thanks, no That is, 

yes, thanks. Yes! You haven't answered my ques- 
tion? 

[Cynthia waves her hand through the smoke, 
looks at the smoke suspiciously, looks for the 
cigarette. 

I ViDA. 

[Flaying innocence in the first degree.] My dear, what 
makes you imagine that any one's here ! 

Cynthia. 
You've been smoking. 

ViDA. 

Oh, puffing away ! 

[Cynthia sees the glasses up r. 

Cynthia. 
And drinking — a pair of drinks? [She sees John's 
gloves on the table at her elbow.] Do they fit you, dear? 
[ViDA smiles ; Qxws'AlK picks up crop and looks at it and 
reads her own name.] " Jack, from Cynthia." 

ViDA. 

[Assured, and without taking the trouble to double for a 
mere woman.] Yes, dear ; it's Mr. Karslake's crop, but 
I'm happy to say he left me a few minutes ago. 

Cynthia. 

He left the house? [Vida smiles.] I wanted to see 
him. 

Vida. 

[With a shade of insolence.] To quarrel? 



78 TEE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
{^Frank and curt.'] I wanted to see him. 

ViDA. 

{^Determined to put Cynthia in the wrong 7] And 1 sent 
him away because I didn't want you to repeat the scene 
of last night in my house. 

Cynthia. 
{Looks at crop and is silent.] Well, I can't stay. I'm 
to be married at three, and I had to play truant to get 
here ! 

{Enter Benson, up l. 

Benson. 
{To Vida.] There's a person, ma'am, on the sidewalk. 

ViDA. 

What person, Benson ? 

Benson. 
A person, ma'am, with a horse. 
Cynthia. 
{Happily agitated.] It's Fiddler with Cynthia K ! 

{She goes up rapidly and looks out back through 
window, 

ViDA. 

{To Benson.] Tell the man I'll be down in five 
minutes. 

Cynthia. 

{Looking down from the balcony with delight.] Oh, 
there she is ! 

ViDA. 

{Aside to Benson.] Go to the club room, Benson, and 
say to the two gentlemen I can't see them at present — I'll 
send for them when 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 79 

Benson. 
[^Lisiens l.] I hear some one coming. 

ViDA. 

Quick ! 

[Benson crosses l. Door l. opetis, and John 
enters. John comes in slowly, carelessly. ViDA 
whispers io Benson. 

Benson. 
[Crosses, goes close io John and whispers.'] Beg par 

ViDA. 

[Under her breath.'] Go back ! 

John. 
[Not understanding.] I beg pardon ! 

ViDA. 

[As before.] Go back ! 

John. 
[The same.] Can't! I've a date! With the sheriff ! 

ViDA. 

[A little cross.] Please use your eyes. 

John. 
[Laughing and /latterifigYiiyA.] I am using my eyes. 

ViDA. 

iFretted.] Don't you see there's a lovely creature in 
the room ? 

John. 
[Again taki?ig the loud 2cpperha7id.] Of course there is. 

ViDA. 

Hush! 



80 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John, 
[Teasingiy .'] But what I want to know is 

ViDA. 

Hush ! 

John. 

\_DeHghted at getting a rise.'] is when we're to 

stroll in the Garden of Eden 

ViDA. 

Hush ! 

John. 

and lose the key. [To put a stop to this, she 

lightly tosses her handkerchief into his face ^ By George, 
talk about attar of roses ! 

Cynthia. 

[ Up at window, excited and moved at seeing ner mare 
once more.~\ Oh, she's a darling! [She turns.] A 
perfect darling ! [John starts up ; sees Cynthia at the 
same instant that she sees him.] Oh! I didn't know you 
were here. [Pause; then with " take-it-or-leave-it'' 
frankness.] I came to sec you / 

[John looks extremely dark and angry; Vida 
rises. 

Vida. 
[To Cynthia, most gently, and seeijig there s nothing to 
be made ^ John.] Oh, pray feel at home, Cynthia, dear ! 
[Stands by door, r. ; to John.] When I've a nice street 
frock on, I'll ask you to present me to Cynthia K. 

[Exit Vida, r. John and Cynthia, tableau. 

Cynthia. 

[Agitated atid frank.] Of course, I told you yesterday 
I was coming here. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 81 

John, 
[r., irritated.~\ And I was to deny myself the privilege 
of being here ? 

Cynthia. 
[^Curt and agitated.'] Yes. 

John. 
\_Ready to fight.] And you guessed I would do that ? 

Cynthia. 
No. 

John. 
What? 

Cynthia. 
\_Above table. She speaks with agitation, frankness and 
good will.] Jack — I mean, Mr. Karslake, — no, I mean, 
Jack! I came because — well, you see, it's my wedding 
day! — and — and — I — I — was rude to you last evening. 
I'd like to apologize and make peace with you before I 
go 

John. 
{^Determined to be disagreeable.] Before you go to your 
last, long home ! 

Cynthia. 
I came to apologize. 

John. 
But you'll remain to quarrel I 

Cynthia. 
\Still frank and kitid.] I will not quarrel. No I — and 
I'm only here for a moment. I'm to be married at three, 
and just look at the clock ! Besides, I told Philip I was 
going to Louise's shop, and I did — on the way here ; but, 
you see, if I stay too long he'll telephone Louise and find 



82 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

I'm not there, and he might guess I was here. So you 
see I'm risking a scandal. And now, Jack, see here, I 
lay my hand on the table, I'm here on the square, and, 
— what I want to say is, why — Jack, even if we have 
made a mess of our married hfe, let's put by anger and 
pride. It's all over now and can't be helped. So let's be 
human, let's be reasonable, and let's be kind to each 
other! Won't you give me your hand? [John refuses, 
R.] I wish you every happiness ! 

John. 

\_Turns away R., the past ranktmg.'\ I had a client 
once, a murderer ; he told me he murdered the man, and 
he told me, too, that he never felt so kindly to anybody 
as he did to that man after he'd killed him ! 

Cynthia. 
Jack ! 

John. 
{Unforgiving, '\ You murdered my happiness! 

Cynthia. 

I won't recriminate ! 

John. 

And now I must put by anger and pride ! I do ! But 
not self-respect, not a just indignation — not the facts and 
my clear memory of them ! 

Cynthia. 
Jack ! 

John. 
No! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 83 

Cynthia. 
[^Goes C, with growing emotion, and holds out her 
hand.l I give you one more chance! Yes, I'm deter- 
mined to be generous. I forgive everything you ever 
did to me. I'm ready to be friends. I wish you every 
happiness and every — every — horse in the world I I 
can't do more than that! \She offers it again.'] You 
refuse .^ 

John. 

[Moved but surly.] I hke wildcats and I like Chris- 
tians, but I don't like Christian wildcats ! Now I'm close 
hauled, trot out your tornado ! Let the Tiger loose ! 
It's the tamer, the man in the cage that has to look lively 
and use the red hot crowbar ! But by Jove, I'm out of 
the cage ! I'm a mere spectator of the married circus ! 

\_He puffs vigorously. 

Cynthia. 

Be a game sport then ! Our marriage was a wager ; 
you wagered you could live with me. You lost ; you 
paid with a divorce ; and now is the time to show your 
sporting blood. Come on, shake hands and part friends. 

John. 

Not in this world ! Friends with you, no ! I have a 
proper pride. I don't propose to put my pride in my 
pocket. 

Cynthia. 

[Jealous and plain spoken.] Oh, I wouldn't ask you 
to put your pride in your pocket while Vida's handker- 
chief is there. [John looks ajigered.] Pretty little bijou 
of a handkerchief! [Cynthia takes handkerchief out.] 
And she is charming, and divorced, and reasonably well 
made up. 



84 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 

Oh, well, Vida is a woman. \_Business with handker- 
chief }\ I'm a man, a handkerchief is a handkerchief, 
and as some old Aristotle or other said, whatever con- 
cerns a woman, concerns me ! 

Cynthia. 

[AW oblivions of him, but in a low voice.'^ Insufferable ! 
Well, yes. [She sits. She is too much wounded to make any 
further appeal. '\ You're perfectly right. There's no pos- 
sible harmony between divorced people ! I withdraw 
my hand and all good feehng. No wonder I couldn't 
stand you. Eh? However, that's pleasantly past! 
But at least, my dear Karslake, let us have some sort of 
beauty of behavior ! If we cannot be decent, let us en- 
deavor to be graceful. If we can't be moral, at least we 
can avoid being vulgar. 

John. 

Well 

Cynthia. 

If there's to be no more marriage in the world 

John. 

{Cynical r^ Oh, but that's not it ; there's to be more 
and more and more ! 

Cynthia. 
{With a touch of bitterness.'] Very well! I repeat 
then, if there's to be nothing but marriage and divorce, 
and remarriage, and redivorce, at least, at least, those 
who are divorced can avoid the vulgarity of meeting 
each other here, there, and everywhere ! 

John. 
Oh, that's where you come out ! 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 85. 

Cynthia. 
I thought so yesterday, and to-day I know it. It^s arr 
insufferable thing to a woman of any deUcacy of feeling 

to find her husband 

John. 
Ahem — former ! 

Cynthia. 

Once a husband always 

John. 
•\SiiU cynical?^ Oh, no ! Oh, dear, no. 

Cynthia. 
To find her — to find the man she has once lived with 
—in the house of— making love to — to find you here ! 
[John smiles; rises?^ You smile, — but I say, it should 
be a social axiom, no woman should have to meet her 
former husband. 

John. 
{^Cynical and cuttinj^.'] Oh, I don't know ; after I've 
served my term I don't mind meeting my jailor. 

Cynthia. 
[John takes chair near Cynthia.] It's indecent — at 
the horse-show, the opera, at races and balls, to meet the 

man who once It's not civilized! It's fantastic! 

It's half baked ! Oh, I never should have come here! 
[//(? sympathizes, and she grows irrational and furious i\ 
But it's entirely your fault ! 

John. 
My fault? 

Cynthia. 
{Working herself into a rage7\ Of course. What busi- 
ness have you to be about — to be at large. To be at 
all! 



86 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
Gosh ! 

Cynthia. 
\_As beforej] To be where I am ! Yes, it's just as hor- 
rible for you to turn up in my Hfe as it would be for a 
dead person to insist on coming back to life and dinner 
and bridge ! 

John. 
Horrid idea ! 

Cynthia. 
Yes, but it's you who behave just as if you were not 
dead, just as if I'd not spent a fortune on your funeral. 
You do ; you prepare to bob up at afternoon teas, — and 
dinners — and embarrass me to death with your extinct 
personality ! 

John. 
Well, of course we were married, but it didn't quite 
kill me. 

Cynthia. 
\_Angry attd plain spoken.'] You killed yourself for me 
— I divorced you. I buried you out of my life. If any 
human soul was ever dead, you are ! And there's 
nothing I so hate as a gibbering ghost. 



John. 



Oh, I say 



Cynthia, 
[ With hot anger.'] Go gibber and squeak where gibber- 
ing and squeaking are the fashion ! 

John. 
[^Laughs, pretendijig to a coldness he does not feel.] 
And so, my dear child, I'm to abate myself as a nui- 
sance ! Well, as far as seeing you is concerned, for my 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 87 

part it's just like seeing a horse who's chucked you once. 
The bruises are O. K., and you see him with a sort of 
easy curiosity. Of course, you know, he'll jolly well 
chuck the next man ! — Permit me ! [John picks up 
gloves, hatidkerchief and parasol and gives her these as 
she drops them one by one in her agitation.'] There's 
pleasure in the thought. 

Cynthia. 
Oh! 

John. 
And now, may I ask you a very simple question ? 
Mere curiosity on my part, but, why did you come here 
this morning ? 

Cynthia. 
I have already explained that to you. 

John. 
Not your real motive. Permit me ! 

Cynthia. 
Oh! 

John. 
But I believe I have guessed your real — permit me — 
your real motive ! 

Cynthia. 
Oh! 

John. 

[With tnock sympathy^ Cynthia, I am sorry for you. 

Cynthia. 
Hm? 

John. 
Of course we had a pretty lively case of the fever — the 
mutual attraction fever, and we were married a very 
short time. And I conclude that's what's the matter 
with you ! You see, my dear, seven months of married 
life is too short a time to cure a bad case of the fancies. 



88 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 

\_In angry surprise.'] What ? 

John. 

[G?/w and trmmpha7tt.'\ That's my diagnosis. 

Cynthia. 

{Slowly and gathering herself together^ I don't think I 
understand. 

John. 
Oh, yes, you do ; yes, you do. 

Cynthia. 
\\Vith biasing eyes.] What do you mean ? 

John. 
Would you mind not breaking my crop ! Thank you! 
I mean [with polite impertinence] that ours was a case 
of premature divorce, and, ahem, you're in love with me 
still. 

\Panse. Cynthia has one moment of fury, then 
she realizes at what a disadvantage this places 
her. She makes an immense effort, recovers 
her calm, thinks hard for a moment more, and 
then, has suddetily an inspiration. 

Cynthia. 
Jack, some day you'll get the bhnd staggers from con- 
ceit. No, I'm not in love with you, Mr. Karslake, but I 
shouldn't be at all surprised if she were. She's just your 
sort, you know. She's a man-eating shark, and you'll 
be a toothsome mouthful. Oh, come now. Jack, what a 
silly you are ! Oh, yes, you are, to get off a joke Hke 

that ; me — in love with 

\_Looks at him. 
John. 

Why are you here ? {She laughs and begins to play her 
game!] Why are you here? 



Guess ! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 89 

Cynthia. 

[She laughs. 



Why are you 



John. 



Cynthia. 



\_Quickiy.'] Why am I here ! I'll tell you. I'm going 
to be married. I had a longing, an irresistible longing 
to see you make an ass of yourself just once more ! It 
happened ! 

John. 
[^Uncertain and discomfited.'] I know better ! 

Cynthia. 
But I came for a serious purpose, too. I came, my 
dear fellow, to make an experiment on myself. I've 

been with you thirty minutes ; and [She sighs with 

content.'] It's all right ! 

John. 
What's all right? 

Cynthia. 
[Calm and apparently at peace with the world.] I'm 
immune. 

John. 
Immune ? 

Cynthia. 
You're not catching any more ! Yes, you see, I said 
to myself, if I fly into a temper 

John. 
You did ! 



90 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
If I fly into a temper when I see him, well that shows 
I'm not yet so entirely convalescent that I can afford to 
have Jack Karslake at my house. If I remain calm I 
shall ask him to dinner. 

John. 
\_Routed.'\ Ask me if you dare ! 

[^Rises. 
Cynthia. 
[Getting the whip hand for good.'] Ask you to dinner? 
Oh, my dear fellow. [John rises.] I'm going to do 
much more than that. [Rises.] We must be friends, old 
man ! We must meet, we must meet often, we must 
show New York the way the thing should be done, and, 

to show you I mean it I want you to be my best 

man, and give me away when I'm married this after- 
noon. 

John. 
[Incredulous and iinpatiejit.] You don't mean that ! 

[Puts back chair. 

Cynthia. 
There you are ! Always suspicious ! 

John. 
You don't mean that ! 

Cynthia. 
[Hiding her emotion imder a sportswoman s 7nanner.] 
Don't I? I ask you, come! And come as you are! 
And I'll lay my wedding gown to Cynthia K that you 
won't be there ! If you're there, you get the gown, and 
if you're not, I get Cynthia K ! 

John. 
[Determitted not to be worsted.] I take it! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 91 

Cynthia. 
Done ! Now, then, we'll see which of us two is the 
real sporting goods ! Shake ! \_They shake hands o?i it.'] 
Would you mind letting me have a plain soda? [John 
goes to the table, and, as he is rattled and does not regard 
what he is about, he fills the glass three-fourths full with 
whiskey. He comes to Cynthia and gives her this. She 
looks him in the eye with an air of triwnph.'] Thanks. 
{^Maliciously, as Vida ejiters.'] Your hand is a bit shaky. 
I i]i\nkyou need a little King Wilham. 

[John shrugs his shoulders, and as Vida imme- 
diately speaks, Cynthia defers drinking. 

Vida. 
\To Cynthia.] My dear, I'm sorry to tell you your 
husband — I mean, my husband — I mean Phihp — he's 
asking for you over the 'phone. You must have said you 
were coming here. Of course, I told him you were not 
here, and hung up. 

{Enter Benson. 

Benson. 
{To Vida.] Ma'am, the new footman's been talking 
with Mr. Phillimore on the wire. [Vida, ^^^^///;'<? ofregretP\ 
He told Mr. Phillimore that his lady was here, and if 1 
can believe my ears, ma'am, he's got Sir Wilfrid on the 
'phone now ! 

{Enter Sir Wilfrid. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{Comes from L., perplexed and annoyed.'] I say y' know 
— extraordinary country ; that old chap, Phillimore, he's 
been damned impertinent over the wire ! Says I've run 
off with Mrs. Karslake — talks about "Louise!" Now 
who the dooce is Louise? He's comin' round here, too — 

I said Mrs. Karslake wasn't here [^^^5 Cynthia.] 

Hello ! Good job ! What a Har I am ! 



92 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Benson. 
[7i? ViDA.] Mr. Fiddler, ma'am, says the mare is get- 
tin' very restive. 

[Cotnes up to door. John hears this and moves at 
once. Exit Benson. 

John. 
\To ViDA.] If that mare's restive, she'll break out in a 
rash. 

ViDA. 

\To John.] Will you take me ? 

John. 
Of course. 

[ They go up to exit l. 

Cynthia. 
\To John.] Tata, old man! Meet you at the altar! 
If I don't, the mare's mine ! 

[Sir Wilfrid looks at her amazed. 

ViDA. 

\7o Cynthia.] Do the honors, dear, in my absence ! 

John. 
Come along, come along, never mind them ! A horse 
is a horse ! 

\_Exeunt John and Vida, l., gaily ajtd in haste. 
At the same moment Cynthia drijiks what she 
supposes to be her glass of plain soda. As it is 
whiskey straight, she is seized with astonish- 
ment and a fit of cojighing. Sir Wilfrid 
relieves her of the glass. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[^Indicating contents of glass.'] I say, do you ordinarily 
take it as high up — as seven fingers and two thumbs. 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 93 

Cynthia. 
\_Coughs.'] Jack poured it out. Just shows how groggy 

he was ! And now, Sir Wilfrid 

\_Gets her things to go. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Oh, you can't go! 

\_Enter Brooks. 

Cynthia. 
I am to be married at three. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Let him wait. \_To Brooks, whofn he meets near the 
door ; aside.'\ If Mr. PhilUmore comes, bring his card up. 

Brooks. 
[Going.'] Yes, Sir Wilfrid. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[To Brooks, as before^ To me ! 



Brooks. 
[Bowing.] To you. Sir Wilfrid. 



[He tips him. 



[Exit Brooks. 



Sir Wilfrid. 
[Returning to Cynthia.] I've got to have my innings, 
y' know ! [He looks at her more closely^ I say, you've 

been crying ! 

Cynthia. 
King William ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
You are crying ! Poor little gal ! 

Cynthia. 
[Tears in her ej/es.] I feel all shaken and cold. 

[Enter Brooks, with card. 



94 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Astonished and sympathetic. 'I Poor little gal. 

Cynthia. 
\As before^ I didn't sleep a wink last night, \\Vith 
disgust.'] Oh, what is the matter with me? 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Why, it's as plain as apikestatf ! You [Brooks 

has brought salver to Sir Wilfrid. A card lies tip on 
it. Sir Wilfrid takes it a7id says aside to Brooks.] 
Phillimore ? [Brooks assents. Aloud to Cynthia, calmly 
deceitful.] Who's Waldorf Smith ? [Cynthia shakes he? 
head. To Brooks, returning card to salver.] Tell the 
gentleman Mrs. Karslake is not here ! 

\_Exit Brooks. 
Cynthia. 
[Aware that she has no business where she is.] I thought 
it was Philip ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[ Telling the truth as if it were a lie.] So did I ! [ With 
cheerful cojtfdence.] And now, Mrs. Karslake, I'll tell 
you why you're cryin". [He sits beside her.] You're mar- 
ryin' the wrong man! I'm sorry for you, but you're 
such a goose. Here you are, marryin' this legal lumi- 
nary. What for? You don't know! He don't know ! 
But I do ! You pretend you're marryin' him because it's 
the sensible thing ; not a bit of it. You're marryin' Mr. 
Phillimore because of all the other men you ever saw he's 
the least like Jack Karslake. 

Cynthia. 
That's a very good reason. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
There's only one good reason for marrying, and that is 
because you'll die if you don't ! 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 951 

Cynthia. 
Oh, I've tried that ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
The Scripture says : •* Try ! try I again ! " I tell you» 
there's nothing like a w'im ! 

Cynthia. 
What's that? W'im? Oh, you mean a whim! Do 
please try and say W^im ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\_For the first time emphasizing his H in the word.'] 
W^im. You must have a w'im — w'im for the chappie 
you marry. 

Cynthia. 
I had — for Jack. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Your w'im wasn't wimmy enough, my dear ! if you'd 
had more of it, and tougher, it would ha' stood y' know ! 
Now, I'm not proposin' ! 

Cynthia. 

^Diverted at last from her own distress."] I hope not ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Oh, I will later! It's not time yet! As I was 

saying 

Cynthia. 
And pray, Sir Wilfrid, when will it be time ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
As soon as I see you have a w'im for me ! \_Rising, 
looks at his watch.] And now, I'll tell you what we'll 
do ! We've got just an hour to get there in, my motor's 
on the corner, and in fifty minutes we'll be at Belmont 
Park. 



S6 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
\JIer sporting blood Jired.'] Belmont Park ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
We'll do the races, and dine at Martin's — 

Cynthia. 
\Tempied.'\ Oh, if I only could ! I can't! I've got 
to DC married! You're awfully nice ; I've almost got a 
*' w'im " for you already. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[^Delighted.'] There you are! I'll send a telegram! 
[She shakes her head. He sits and writes at the 
table, L. 

Cynthia. 
No, no, no ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Reads what he writes.'] " Off with Cates-Darby to 
Races. Please postpone ceremony till seven-thirty." 

Cynthia. 

Oh, no, it's impossible ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 

[Accustomed to have things go his way.] No more than 
breathin' ! You can't get a w'im for me, you know, un- 
less we're together, so together we'll be! [Enter ]ow^ 
Karslake.] And to-morrow you'll wake up with a jolly 
little w'im [Reads.] ' ' Postpone ceremony till seven- 
thirty." There. [He puts on her cloak. Sees John.] 
Hello ! 

John. 
\_Surly^ Hello ! Sorry to disturb you. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 97 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[^Cheerful as possible.'] Just the man! \Gives him the 
telegraph for?n^ Just step round and send it, my boy. 
Thanks ! 

[John reads it. 

Cynthia. 
No, no, I can't go ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Cockety -coo-coo-can' t. I say, you must! 

Cynthia. 
\_Positively.'] No! 

John. 

\Astounded.'\ Do you mean you're going 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\_Very gay.] Off to the races, my boy ! 

John. 
[_Angry and outraged.] Mrs. Karslake can't go with 
you there ! 

[Cynthia starts, amazed at his assumption of 
?ttarital authority, and delighted that she will 
have an opportunity of outraging his sensi- 
bilities. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Oho! 

John. 
An hour before her wedding ! ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\C}ay a?id not angry.] May I know if it's the cus- 
tom 

John. 
[^yealous and disgusted.] It's worse than eloping 



98 TEE NEW YORK IDEA 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Custom, y' know, for the husband, that was, to dic- 
tate 

John. 
{Thoroughly vexed."] By George, there's a limit ! 

Cynthia. 
What ? What ? What ? {Gathers up her things."] What 
did I hear you say ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Ah! 

John. 
{Angry."] I say there's a hmit 

Cynthia. 
{More and more determined to arouse and excite John.] 
Oh, there's a hmit, is there ? 

John. 
There is ! I bar the way ! It means reputation — it 

means 

Cynthia. 
{Enjoying her opportunity.] We shall see what it 
means ! 

Sir Wilfrid, 
Aha! 

John. 
{To Cynthia.] I'm here to protect your reputa- 
tion 

Sir Wilfrid. 
{To Cynthia.] We've got to make haste, you know. 

Cynthia. 
Now, I'm ready 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 99 

John. 
\_To Cynthia.] Be sensible. You're breaking off the 

match 

Cynthia. 
{^Excitedly.'] What's that to you? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
It's boots and saddles ! 

John. 
\_He takes his stand between them and the door.'\ No 
thoroughfare ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Look here, my boy ! 

Cynthia. 

\Catching at the opportunity of putting ]0^^ in an im- 
possible position.'] Wait a moment, Sir Wilfrid ! Give me 
the wire ! \Faces him.'] Thanks ! \_She takes the telegraph 
form frofu him and tears it up.] There ! Too rude to 
chuck him by wire ! But you, Jack, you've taken on 
yourself to look after my interests, so I'll just ask you, 
old man, to run down to the Supreme Court and tell 
Philip — nicely, you know — I'm off with Sir Wilfrid and 
where! Say I'll be back by seven, if I'm not later! 
And make it clear. Jack, I'll marry him by eight-thirty 
or nine at the latest! And mind you re there, dear I 
And now, Sir Wilfrid, we're off. 

John. 
[^Staggered and furious, giving way as they pass him.] 
I'm not the man to — to carry — — 

Cynthia. 
[Quick arid dashing.] Oh, yes, you are. 

John. 
a message from you. 



100 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
\7riumphani.'] Oh, yes, you are ; you're just exactly 
the man ! 

\_Exeunt Cynthia and Sir Wilfrid. 

John. 
Great miracles of Moses ! 



curtain 



THE THIRD ACT 

SCENE. — The same as that of Act /, but the room has 
been cleared of too much furniture, and arranged for 
a wedding ceremony. The curtain rises on Mrs. 
Phillimore reclining on the sofa, l. Miss Heneage 
is seated left of table, r. Sudley is seated at the 
right of the table. Grace is seated on sofa, l. 
There are cushions of flowers, alcove of flowers, 
flowers in vase, pink and white hangings, wedding 
bell of roses, calla lilies, orange blossoms, a ribbon of 
white stretched in front of an altar of flowers ; two 
cushions for the couple to kneel on ; two candelabra at 
each side of back of arch on pedestals. 

\The curtain rises. There is a momentary silence, 
that the audience may take in these symbols of 
marriage, etc. Every member of the Phillimore 
family is irritable, with suppressed irritation. 

Sudley. 
\_Impatiently.'\ All very well, my dear Sarah. But 
you see the hour. Twenty to ten ! We have been here 
since half-past two. 

Miss Heneage. 
You had dinner? 

Sudley. 
I did not come here at two to have dinner at eight, 
and be kept waiting until ten ! And, my dear Sarah, 

when I ask where the bride is • 

101 



102 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Miss Heneage. 
\With forced cofnposure.'] I have told you all I know, 
Mr. John Karslake came to the house at lunch time, 
spoke to Phihp, and they left the house together. 

Grace. 
Where is Philip ? 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
{^Feebly, irritated.'] I don't wish to be censorious or to 
express an actual opinion, but I must say it's a bold bride 
who keeps her future mother-in-law waiting for eight 

hours. However, I will not venture to 

[Mrs. Phillimore reclines again and fades away 
into silence. 

Grace. 

[Sharply and decisively.'] I do ! I'm sorry I went to 
the expense of a silver ice-pitcher. 

[Mrs. Phillimore sighs. Miss Heneage keeps 
her temper with an effort which is obvious. 
Enter Thomas. 

Sudley. 
\To Mrs. Phillimore.] For my part, I don't believe 
Mrs. Karslake means to return here or to marry Philip at 
all! 

Thomas, 
[r. c, to Miss Heneage.] Two telegrams for you, 
ma'am ! The choir boys have had their supper. 

[Slight movement from every one ; Thomas steps 
back. 

Sudley. 
{Rises 7] At last we shall know ! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 103 

Miss Heneage. 
From the lady ! Probably ! 

[Miss Heneage opens telegram; reads first one 
at a glance, lays it on salver again with a 
glance at Sudley. Thomas passes salver to 
Sudley, who takes telegram, 

Grace. 
There's a toot now. 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
\_Feebly, confused?^ I don't wish to intrude, but really I 
cannot imagine Philip marrying at midnight. 

\As Sudley 7'eads, Miss Heneage opens the sec 
ond telegra?n, but does not read it. 

Sudley. 
[^Reads.'\ " Accident, auto struck " — something ! 
"Gasohne" — did something — illegible, ah! \_Reads.'\ 
" Home by nine forty-five ! Hold the church ! " 

\_General movement from all. 

Miss Heneage. 
{^Profoundly she eked. '\ " Hold the church ! " WiUiam, 
she still means to marry Philip ! and to-night, too ! 

Sudley. 
It's from Belmont Park. 

Grace. 
[Making a great discovery r\ She went to the races ! 

Miss Heneage. 
This is from Philip ! [Miss Heneage reads second 
telegram.'\ " I arrive at ten o'clock. Have dinner 
ready." [Miss Heneage motions to Thomas to with- 



104 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

draw. Thomas exits, l. Miss Heneage looks at her 
watch.'] They are both due now. [Movement.'] What's 
to be done ? 

[^Rises. SuDLEY shrugs shoulders. 

SUDLEY. 

\_Kises.] After a young woman has spent her wedding 
day at the races? Why, I consider that she has broken 
the engagement, — and when she comes, tell her so. 

Miss Heneage. 
I'll telephone Matthew. The choir boys can go home 
— her maid can pack her belongings — and when the 

lady arrives 

[Very distant toot of an auto-horn is heard. Tab- 
leau. Auto-horn a little louder. Grace files 
up stage and looks out of door R. Mrs. Phil- 
limore does not know what to do, or where to 
go. Sudley c?vsses R., excitedly. Miss Hen- 
eage stands ready to make herself disagreeable. 

Grace. 
[Speaking rapidly and zoith excitement.] I hear a man's 
voice. Cates-Darby and brother Matthew. 

[Loud toot. Laughter and voices off back, faintly. 
Grace looks out of door, and then comes rapidly 
down L. 

Miss Heneage. 
Outrageous ! 

Sudley. 

Disgraceful ! 

Mrs, Phillimore. 
Shocking ! [ Voices and horn off; a little louder. Partly 

rising.] I shall not take any part at all, in the— eh 

[She fades away. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 105 

Miss Heneage. 
[Interrupting her'] Don't trouble yourself. 

[^Voices and laughter, louder. Cynthia's voice is 
heard off. Sir Wilfrid appears back. He 
turns and waits for Cynthia and Matthew. 
- He carries wraps. He speaks to Cynthia, who 
is still off. Matthew's voice is heard and 
Cynthia's. Cynthia appears at back, fol- 
lowed by Matthew. As they appear, Cynthia 
speaks to Matthew, on her right. Sir Wil- 
frid carries a newspaper and parasol. The 
hat is the one she wore in Act II. She is in get- 
up for auto. Goggles, veil, a7i exquisite duster 
in latest Paris style. All three come down rap- 
idly. As she appears, Sudley rtWrt'Miss Hen- 
eage exclaim, and there is a general movetnetit. 

Sudley. 
{^To table, l.] Ton my word ! 

Grace. 
Hah! 

Miss Heneage. 

\_Rises, R.] Shocking 1 

[Grace remains standing above sofa. Sudley 
moves toward her. Miss Heneage j/Z^. Mrs. 
Phillimore reclines on sofa, L. Cynthia be- 
gins to speak as soon as she appears and speaks 
fluently to the end. 

Cynthia. 
[c] No ! I never was so surprised in my life, as 
when I strolled into the paddock and they gave me a 
rousing reception — old Jimmy W^ithers, Debt Gollup, 
Jack Deal, Monty Spiffles, the Governor and Buckeye. 
All of my old admirers ! They simply fell on my neck, 



106 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

and, dear Matthew, what do you think I did? I turned 
on the water main! [Move7ne7its and murmurs of disap- 
probation from the family. Matthew indicates a desire 
to £-0.'] Oh, but you can't go ! 

Matthew. 
I'll return in no time ! 

Cynthia. 
I'm all ready to be married. Are they ready? [Mat- 
thew waves a pious, polite gesture of recognition to the 
fainily.'l I beg everybody's pardon! \_She takes off her 
wrap and puts it on the back of a chair up stage.^ My 
goggles are so dusty, I can't see who's who ! \To Sir 
Wilfrid.] Thanks ! You have carried it well ! 

{Parasol from Sir Wilfrid. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\_Aside to Cynthia.] When may I ? 

Cynthia. 
See you next Goodwood ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Imperturbably.'] Oh, I'm comuig back I 

[Cynthia comes down. 

Cynthia. 
Not a bit of use in coming back ! I shall be married 
before you get here ! Ta ! Ta ! Goodwood ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[As before 7\ I'm coming back. 

{He goes out l., quickly. More murmurs of dis- 
approbation from family. Slight pause. 

Cynthia. 

\_Begins to take off her goggles, and comes down slowly^ 
I do awfully apologize for being so late ! 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 107 

Miss Heneage. 
\Importanilyr\ Mrs. Karslake 

SUDLEY. 

[Importantly.'] Ahem ! 

[Cynthia lays down goggles, and sees their 
sev.erity. 

Cynthia. 
Dear me ! \_She surveys the flowers, and for a moment 
pauses.] Oh, good heavens ! Why, it looks hke a smart 
funeral ! 

[Miss Heneage inoves: then speaks in a per- 
fectly ordinary natural tone, but her expression 
is severe. Cynthia immediately realizes the 
state of affairs in its fullness. 

Miss Heneage. 
[7b Cynthia.] After what has occurred, Mrs. Kars- 
lake 

[Cynthia glances at table l. 

Cynthia. 
\_Sits R. of table, composed and good tempered.] I see 
you got my wire — so you know where I have been. 

Miss Heneage. 
To the race-course ! 

SUDLEY. 

[Goes up to c] With a rowdy Englishman. 

[Cynthia glances at Sudley, uncertain whether he 
fneans to be disagreeable, or whether he is only 
naturally so. 

Miss Heneage. 
We concluded you desired to break the engagement! 

Cynthia. 
[Indifferently.] No! No! Oh! No! 



108 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Miss Heneage. 
Do you intend, despite of our opinion of you 

Cynthia. 
The only opinion that would have any weight with me 
would be Mrs. Phillimore's. 

\_S/ie turns expectantly to Mrs. Phillimore, 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
I am generally asleep at this hour, and accordingly I 
will not venture to express any — eh — any — actual opinion. 
\^Fades away. Cynthia smiles. 

Miss Heneage. 
\Coldly.'\ You smile. We simply inform you that as 
regards us, the alliance is not grateful. 

Cynthia. 

\_Affecting gaiety and unconcern?^ And all this because 
the gasoline gave out. 

Sudley. 
My patience has given out ! 

Grace. 
So has mine. I'm going. 

\Exit Grace. 
Sudley. 
\Comes down c, vexed beyond civility. To Cynthia.] 
My dear young lady : You come here, to this sacred — 
eh — eh — spot — altar! — [gesture'] odoriferous of the pad- 
dock ! — speaking of Spimes and Buckeye, — having prac- 
tically eloped ! — having created a scandal, and disgraced 
our family ! 

Cynthia. 
\_As before.'] How does it disgrace you ? Because I 
Uke to see a high-bred, clean, nervy, sweet little four- 
legged gee play the antelope over a hurdle ! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 109 

Miss Heneage. 

Sister, it is high time that you 

[Tunis to Cynthia. Gesture. 

Cynthia. 
[With quiet irony. '\ Mrs. Philhmore is generally asleep 
at this hour, and accordingly she will not venture to ex- 
press 

SUDLEY. 

{Spluttering with irritation.^ Enough, madam— I ven- 
ture to — to — to — to say, you are leading a fast life. 

Cynthia. 
{With powerful inte?ttion.~\ Not in this house ! For six 
heavy weeks have I been laid away in the grave, and 
I've found it very slow indeed trying to keep pace with 
the dead ! 

SUDLEY. 

{Despairingly .1 This comes of horses ! 

Cynthia. 
{Indignant.'] Of what ? 

SUDLEY. 

C-c -caring for horses ! 

Miss Heneage. 
[ With sublime 7norality.'\ What Mrs. Karslake cares for 
is — men. 

Cynthia. 
{Angry and gay. ^^ What would you have me care for? 
The Ornithorhyncus Paradoxus? or Pithacanthropus 
Erectus? Oh, I refuse to take you seriously. 

[SUDLEY begins to prepare to leave ; he buttons 
himself into respectability and his coat. 



110 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

SUDLEY. 

My dear madam, I take myself seriously — and madam, 
I— I retract what I have brought with mc {Jce fceh in his 
waistcoat pocket'] as a graceful gift, — an Egyptian scarab 
— a — a — sacred beetle, which once ornamented the per- 
son of a — eh — mummy. 

Cynthia. 
{Getting even with hiin.] It should never be absent 
from your pocket, Mr. Sudley ! 

[SuDLEY goes up in a rage» 

Miss Heneage. 

\_Rises. To Sudley.] I've a vast mind to withdraw 

my 

[Cynthia moves, 
Cynthia. 

{Interrupts; 7naliciously.~\ Your wedding present? The 
little bronze cat! 

Miss Heneage. 
{Moves, angrily. ~\ Oh ! 

{Even Mrs. Phillimore comes momentarily to 
life, and expresses silent indignation. 

Sudley. 
{Loftily.'] Sarah, I'm going. 

{Enter Philip at back with Grace. Philip looks 
dusty and grim. Grace, as they co7ne in, 
speaks to him. Philip shakes his head. They 
pause up stage. 

Cynthia. 

{Emotionally.] I shall go to my room ! {Goes to R. 

Sudley rt'^jw;? L. ; Miss Heneage, c. ; Mrs. P^hillimore 

sees Philip. Philip represses Gkack; gives her a stern 

look and forceful gesture to be silent. Cynthia ^^<?.9 up, and 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 111 

Miss Heneage co^nes down R.] However, all I ask is 

that you repeat to Philip 

\_Cofnes suddenly on Philip, and speaks to him in a 
low tone. 

SUDLEY. 

[7b Miss Heneage, determitied to win.'] As I go out, I 
shall do myself the pleasure of calling a hansom for Mrs. 

Karslake 

[Philip comes dow?i two or three steps. 

Philip. 
As you go out, Sudley, have a hansom called, and 
when it comes, get into it. 

Sudley. 
\_Furious, and speaking to Philip.] Eh,— eh, — my dear 
sir, I leave you to your fate. 

[Philip angrily points him the door. Exit, L. 

Miss Heneage. 
{With weight^] Philip, you've not heard 

Philip. 

{Interrupts.'] Everything — from Grace ! [Cynthia 

goes down R. of ta%le.~\ My sister has repeated your words 

to me — and her own ! I've told her what I think of her. 

[Philip looks witheringly at Grace. 

Grace. 
I shan't wait to hear any more. 

{Exit Grace, indignantly, 

Philip. 
Don't make it necessary for me to tell you what I think 
of you. [Philip crosses l. ; Miss Heneage crosses to r. 
i?tfury. Viiii.iv gives his arm to his mother. Miss Hen- 
eage goes to door R.] Mother, with your permission, I 



11 > THE NEW YORK IDEA 

desire to be alone. I expect both you and Grace, Sarah, 
to be dressed and ready for the ceremony a half hour 
from now. 

\_As Philip and Mrs. Phillimore are about to 
cross, Miss Heneage speaks. 

Miss Heneage. 
\_Up R.] I shall come or not as I see fit. And let me 
add, my dear brother, that a fool at forty is a fool indeed. 
/ [^Exit Miss Heneage, r., high and mighty, and 
much pleased with her quotation. 

Mrs. Phillimore. 
\Stupid and weary as usual, to Philip, as he leads her 
to the door, r.] My dear son — I won't venture to ex- 
press 

[Cynthia crosses l. to table. 

Philip. 

{Soothing a silly mother.'] No, mother, don't ! But I 
shall expect you, of course, at the ceremony. [Mrs. 
Phillimore exits R. Philip comes down c. Philip 
takes the tone and assu7?ies the attitude of the injured hus- 
band.] It is proper for me to tell you that I followed you 
to Belmont. I am aware — I know with whom — in fact, 
/ know all! {Pauses. He indicates the whole ce?tsorious 
universe.] And now let me assure you — I am the last man 
in the world to be jilted on the very eve of — of — every- 
thing with you. I won't be jilted. [Cynthia is silent.] 
You understand? I propose to marry you. I won't be 
made ridiculous. 

Cynthia. 

{Glancing at Philip, r.] Philip, I didn't mean to 

make you 

Philip. 

Why, then, did you run oft to Belmont Park with that 
fellow ? 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 113 

Cynthia. 

Philip, I— eh 

Philip. 
[Siis right of table, R.] What motive ? What reason ? 
On our wedding day ? Why did you do it? 

Cynthia. 
I'll tell you the truth. I was bored. 

Philip. 

Bored ? In my company ? 

[Philip, in a gesture, gives up^ 

Cynthia. 
I was bored, and then — and besides. Sir Wilfrid asked 
me to go. 

Philip. 
Exactly, and that was why you went. Cynthia, when 
you promised to marry me, you told me you had forever 
done with love. You agreed that marriage was the ra- 
tional coming together of two people. 

Cynthia. 
I know, I know ! 

Philip. 
Do you believe that now ? 

Cynthia. 
I don't know what 1 believe. My brain is in a whirl ! 
But, Phihp, I am beginning to be — I'm afraid — yes, I am 
afraid that one can't just select a great and good man 
\_she indicates hint] and say : I will be happy with him. 

Philip. 
\_With dignity.'] I don't see why not. You must as- 
suredly do one or the other : You must either let your 
heart choose or your head select. 



114 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
\_Grave/y.'\ No, there's a third scheme : Sir Wilfrid 
explained the theory to me. A woman should marry 
whenever she has a whim for the man, and then leave 
the rest to the man. Do you see ? 

Philip. 
\_Furious.'\ Do I see ? Have I ever seen anything 
else ? Marry for whim ! That's the New York idea of 
marriage. 

Cynthia. 
[^Giving a cynical opmion.'\ New York ought to know, 

Philip. 
Marry for whim and leave the rest to the divorce court ! 
Marry for whim and leave the rest to the man. That was 
the former Mrs. Phillimore's idea. Only she spelled 
" whim " differently ; she omitted the " w," \_He rises i?i 
his angenl And now you^yoi^ take up with this prepos- 
terous [Cy'nthia moves uneasily .\_ But, nonsense! 

It's impossible! A woman of your mental calibre 

No, Some obscure, primitive, iQxmXe feeling is at work 
corrupting your better judgment ! What is it you feel? 

Cynthia. 
Philip, you never felt Hke a fool, did you ? 

Philip. 
No, never. 

Cynthia. 
[Politely.'] I thought not. 

Philip. 
No, but whatever your feehngs, I conclude you are 
ready to marry me. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 115 

Cynthia. 
[Uneasy.'] Of course, I came back. I am here, am I 
not? 

Philip. 
You are ready to marry me ? 

Cynthia. 
[Twisting in the coils.'] But you haven't had your 
dinner. 

Philip. 
Do I understand you refuse ? 

Cynthia. 
Couldn't we defer ? 

Philip. 

You refuse ? 

Cynthia. 

[A slight pause ; trapped and seeing 7io way out.] No, 
I said I'd marry you. I'm a woman of my word. I 
will. 

Philip. 
[Triumphant.] Ah ! Very good, then. Run to your 
room. [Cynthia turns to Philip.] Throw something 
over you. In a half hour I'll expect you here! And 
Cynthia, my dear, remember ! I cannot cuculate like a 
wood pigeon, but — I esteem you ! 

Cynthia. 
[Hopelessly.] I think I'll go, Philip. 

Philip. 
I may not be fitted to play the love-bird, but 

Cynthia. 
[As before^] I think I'll go, Philip. 



116 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Philip. 
I'll expect you,— in half an hour. 

Cynthia. 
[ With leaden despair.'] Yes. 

Philip. 
And, Cynthia, don't think any more about that fellow, 
Cates-Darby. 

Cynthia. 

[Amazed and disgusted by his tnisappre hens ion. "] No. 
\_Exit Cynthia, r, Thomas enters fro?n l. 

Philip. 
[Goes to R. table.'] And if I had that fellow, Cates- 
Darby, in the dock ! 

Thomas. 
Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby. 

Philip. 
Sir what — what — wh-who.^ [Enter Sir Wilfrid, l. 
in evening dress. Tableau. Philip looks Sir Wilfrid 
in the face and speaks to Thomas.] Tell Sir Wilfrid 
Cates-Darby I am not at home to him. 

[Thomas embarrassed. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

[Undaunted?^ My dear Lord Eldon 

Philip, 
[r., to Thomas, as before.] Show the gentleman the 
door. 

[Pause. Sir Wilfrid glances at door R., and 
gesture. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Goes to the door, examities it and returns to Philip.] 
Eh, — I admire the door, my boy ! Fine, old carved 



THE NEW YORK IDEA IIT 

mahogany panel ; but don't ask me to leave by it, for 
Mrs. Karslake made me promise I'd come, and that's 
why I'm here. 

[Thomas exits, L. 

Philip. 

Sir, you are — impudent ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\^Inierrupiing.'] Ah, you put it all in a nutshell, don't 
you ? 

Philip. 
To show your face here, after practically eloping with 
my wife ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\_Pretending ignorance^ When were you married ? 

Philip. 
We are as good as married. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Oh, pooh, pooh ! You can't tell me that grace before 
soup is as good as a dinner ! 

\Takes cigar-case out ; business of a dry smoke^ 

Philip. 

Sir — I — demand 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\Cahnly carrying the situation.~\ Mrs. Karslake is not 
married. T'-^a/'j why I'm here. I am here for the same 
purpose ^^« are ; to ask Mrs. Karslake to be my wife. 

Philip. 
Are you in your senses ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[ Touching up his American cousin in his pet vanity ^^^ 
Come, come, Judge — you Americans have no sense of 



118 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

humor. [He takes a small Jewel-case from his pocket.'] 
There's my regards for the lady — and [reasonably], if 1 
must go, I will. Of course, I would hke to see her, but 

— if it isn't your American custom 

[Enter Thomas. 

Thomas. 

Mr. Karslake. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Oh, well, I say ; if he can come, I can ! 

[Efiter ]on^ Karslake in evening dress, carry- 
ing a large and very smart bride's bouquet 
which he hands to Philip. Philip takes it 
because he isn t up to dropping it, but gets it 
out of his hands as soon as he can. Philip is 
transfixed ; John co?nes, down C. Deep down 
he is feeliiig wounded and unhappy. But, as 
he knows his coming to the cei-emony on what- 
ever pretext is a social outrage, he carries it off 
by assuming an air of its being the most fiatural 
thing iji the world. He controls the expres- 
sion of his deeper emotion, but the pressure of 
this keeps his face grave, and he speaks with 
force. 

John. 
My compliments to the bride, Judge. 

Philip. 
XAngry.] And you, too, have the effrontery? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
There you are ! 

John. 

\_Preiending ease.] Oh, call it friendship 

[Thomas exits, l. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 119 

Philip. 
[^Puts bouquet on table. Ironically.'] I suppose Mrs. 

Karslake 

John. 
She wagered me I wouldn't give her away, and of 

course 

[^Throughout this scene John hides the emotions he 
will not show behind a daring irony. He has 
Philip on his left, walking about in a fury: 
Sir Wilfrid sits on the edge of the table, gay 
and undisturbed. 

Philip. 
\A step toward John.] You will oblige me — both of 
you — by immediately leaving 

John. 
\_Smiles and goes to Philip.] Oh, come, come, Judge 
— suppose I am here ? Who has a better right to attend 
his wife's obsequies ! Certainly, I come as a mourner — 
for you ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
I say, is it the custom ? 

John. 
No, no — of course it's not the custom, no. But we'll 
make it the custom. After all, — what's a divorced wife 
among friends? 

Philip. 
Sir, your humor is strained ! 

John. 
Humor, — Judge ? 

Philip. 
It is, sir, and I'll not be bantered ! Your both being 
here is — it is — gentlemen, there is a decorum which the 
stars in their courses do not violate. 



120 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
Now, Judge, never you mind what the stars do in 
their divorces! Get down to earth of the present day. 
Rufus Choate and Daniel Webster are dead. You must 
be modern. You must let peroration and poetry alone ! 
Come along now. Why shouldn't I give the lady away? 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Hear ! Hear ! Oh, I beg your pardon ! 
John. 

And why shouldn't we both be here? American mar- 
riage is a new thing. We've got to strike the pace, and 
the only trouble is, Judge, that the judiciary have so 
messed the thing up that a man can't be sure he is mar- 
ried until he's divorced. It's a sort of marry-go-round, 
to be sure ! But let it go at that ! Here we all are, and 
we're ready to marry my wife to you, and start her on 
her way to him ! 

Philip. 

{^Brought to a standstill^ Good Lord ! Sir, you can- 
not trifle with monogamy ! 

John. 
Now, now. Judge, monogamy is just as extinct as knee- 
breeches. The new woman has a new idea, and the new 
idea is — well, it's just the opposite of the old Mormon 
one. Their idea is one man, ten wives and a hundred 
children. Our idea is one woman, a hundred husbands 
and one child. 

Philip. 
Sir, this is polyandry. 

John. 
Polyandry? A hundred to one it's polyandry; and 
that's it, Judge ! Uncle Sam has estabhshed consecutive 
polyandry, — but there's got to be an interval between 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 121 

husbands! The fact is, Judge, the modern American 
marriage is Uke a wire fence. The woman's the wire — 
the posts are the husbands. \_He indicates himself, and 
/>^^/2 Sir Wilfrid a;z^/ Philip.] One— two — three! And 
if you cast your eye over the future you can count them, 
post after post, up hill, down dale, all the way to Dakota ! 

Philip. 

All very amusing, sir, but the fact remains 

John. 

l^Goes to Philip, r. Philip moves to R.] Now, now. 

Judge, I like you. But you're asleep; you're living in 

the dark ages. You want to call up Central. " Hello, 

Central ! Give me the present time, 1906, New York ! " 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Of course you do, and — there you are ! 

Philip. 
There I am not, sir! And — \To John] as for Mr. 

Karslake's ill-timed jocosity, — sir, in the future 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Oh, hang the future ! 

Philip. 
I begin to hope. Sir Wilfrid, that in the future I shall 
have the pleasure of hanging you! [77? John.] And as 
to you, sir, your insensate idea of giving away your own 
— your former — my — your — oh ! Good Lord ! This is a 
nightmare ! 

\_He turns to go in despair. Enter Matthew, 
who, seeiftg Philip, speaks as he comes in from 
- door R. 

Matthew. 
\To Philip.] My dear brother. Aunt Sarah Heneage 
refuses to give Mrs. Karslake away, unless you your- 
self,— eh 



122 TEE NEW YORK IDEA 

Philip. 

\_As he exits.'] No more ! I'll attend to the matter ! 

[Exit, R. The choir boys are heard i)racticin^ in 
the next room. 

Matthew. 
[Mopping his brow.] How do you both do? My aunt 
has made me very warm. \_He rings the bell.] You hear 
our choir practicing — sweet angel boys ! Hm ! Hm ! 
Some of the family will not be present. I am very fond 
of you, Mr. Karslake, and I think it admirably Christian 
of you to have waived your — eh — your — eh — that is, now 
that I look at it more narrowly, let me say, that in the 
excitement of pleasurable anticipation, I forgot, Karslake, 

that your presence might occasion remark [Enter 

Thomas.] Thomas ! I left, in the hall, a small handbag 
or satchel containing my surplice. 

Thomas. 
Yes, sir. Ahem ! 

Matthew. 
You must really find the handbag at once. 

[Thomas turns to go, when he stops startled. 

Thomas. 
Yes, sir. [Announcing in consternation.] Mrs. Vida 
Philhmore. 

[Enter Y ID A Phillimore, in full evening dress. 
She steps gently to Matthew. 

Matthew. 

[Always piously serene.] Ah, my dear child ! Now 

this is just as it should be ! That is, eh [He comes 

c. loith her ; she pointedly looks away fro7n Sir Wilfrid.] 
That is, when I come to think of it — your presence might 
be deemed inauspicious. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 123 

ViDA. 

But, my dear Matthew,— I had to come. [Aside to 
him.'] I have a reason for being here. 

[Thomas enters from r. 

Matthew. 

But, my dear child 

[^Gesture. 

Thomas. 
[With syinpalhetic intention.] Sir, Mr. Phillimore 
wishes to have your assistance, sir — with Miss Heneage 
immediately ! 

Matthew. 
Ah! {To ViDA.] One moment! I'll return. [Jb 
Thomas.] Have you found the bag with my surplice r 

\_He goes out L., with Thomas, speaking. Sir 
Wilfrid cojnes to Vida. John crosses and 
cojnes down r. and watches door up l. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[To Vida.] You're just the person I most want to seel 

Vida. 
[With affected icittess.] Oh, no, Sir Wilfrid, Cynthia 
isn't here yet! [Crosses R., to table. John comes down 
fight of table r. To him, with obvious sweetness.] Jack, 
dear, I never was so ravished to see any one. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Taken aback.] By Jove ! 

Vida. 
[Very sweet.] I knew I should find you here ! 

John. 
[Annoyed but civil.] Now don't do that ! 



124 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

ViDA. 

{As before.'] Jack ! 

[They sit. 

John. 
[Civil but plain spoken.'] Don't do it ! 

ViDA. 

[/« a voice dripping with honey.] Do what, Jack ? 

John. 
Touch me with your voice ! I have troubles enough of 
my own. 

\_He sits not far from her ; the table between them. 

ViDA. 

And I know ivho your troubles are ! Cynthia ! 

[From this momejit Vida gives up John as an 
object of the chase and lets him into her other 
gatne. 

John. 
I hate her. I don't know why I came. 

Vida. 
You came, dear, because you couldn't stay away — 
you're in love with her. 

John. 
All right, Vida, what I feel may be love — but all I can 
say is, if I could get even with Cynthia Karslake 

Vida. 
You can, dear — it's as easy as powdering one's face ; 
all you have to do is to be too nice to me ! 

John. 
[Looks inquiringly at Vida.] Eh ! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 125 

ViDA. 

Don't you realize she's jealous of you? Why did she 
come to my house this morning ? She's jealous — and all 
you have to do 

John. 
If I can make her wince, I'll make love to you till the 
Heavenly cows come home ! 

ViDA. 

Well, you see, riiy dear, if you make love to me it will 
[she delicately indicates SiR Wilfrid] cut both ways at 
once ! 

John. 
Eh,— what ! Not Cates-Darby ? [Starts.'] Is that 
Cynthia? 

ViDA. 

Now don't get rattled and forget to make love to me. 

John. 
I've got the jumps. [ Trying to accept her instructions^ 
Vida, I adore you. 

ViDA. 

Oh, you must be more convincing ; that won't do at 
all. 

John. 
[Listens.] Is that she now? 

[Enter Matthew, who goes to the inner rootn. 

Vida. 
It's Matthew, And, Jack, dear, you'd best get the 
hang of it before Cynthia comes. You might tell me 
all about your divorce. That's a sympathetic subject. 
Were you able to undermine it ? 



126 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
No. I've got a wire from my lawyer this morning. 
The divorce holds. She's a free woman. She can 
marry whom she likes. \_The organ is heard, very softly 
played.^ Is that Cynthia? 

\_Rises quickly. 

ViDA. 

It's the organ ! 

John. 

\_Overwhelmingly ex cited. '\ By George ! I should never 
have come ! I think I'll go. 

\_He crosses to go to the door. 

ViDA. 

\_She rises and follows him refjionstratingly .'] When I 
need you ? 

John. 



I can't stand it. 
Oh, but, Jack- 
Good-night ! 



ViDA. 



John. 



ViDA. 

I feel quite ill. [^Seeing that she must play her last card 
to keep hitn, pretends to faintness ; sways and falls into his 
arms.'] Oh ! 

John. 
[/« a rage, but beaten^ I beUeve you're putting up a 
fake. 

\flhe organ swells as Cynthia enters sweepingly ^ 
dressed in full evening dress for the wedding 
cerentony. Tableau. ]onK, not knoiving what 
to do, holds ViDA up as a horrid necessity. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 127 



Cynthia. 



\Speaking as she comes on, to Matthew.] Here I am. 
Ridiculous to make it a conventional thing, you know. 
Come in on the swell of the music, and all that, just as 
if I'd never been married before. Where's Philip? 

[^She looks for Philip attd sees John with ViDA in 
his artns. She stops short. 

John. 
\Uneasy and embarrassed.'] A glass of water! I beg 

your pardon, Mrs. Karslake 

[ The organ plays on>. 

Cynthia, 

\_Ironical and calm.] Vida ! 



John. 



She has fainted. 



Cynthia. 
{As before 7\ Fainted.? \_lVithout paicse.] Dear, dear^ 
dear, terrible ! So she has. [Sir Wil.yki'D takes Jiowers 
from a vase and prepares to sprinkle Vida's forehead with 
the water it contains.] No, no, not her forehead, Sir Wil- 
frid, her frock ! Sprinkle her best Paquin ! If it's a real 
faint, she will not come to ! 

Vida. 
\As her Paris importation is about to suffer comes to her 
senses.] I almost fainted, 

Cynthia. 
Almost ! 

Vida. 

\Using the stock phrase as a matter of course, and reviv- 
ing rapidly.] Where am I ? [John glances at Cynthia 
sharply.] Oh, the bride ! I beg every one's pardon.. 
Cynthia, at a crisis hke this, I simply couldn't stay away 
from Philip ! 



128 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
Stay away from Philip ? 

[John t?«^ Cynthia exchange glances, 

ViDA. 

Your arm, Jack ; and lead me where there is air, 

[John and Vida go into the further room ; John 
stands left of her. The organ stops. Sir Wil- 
frid comes down. He and Cynthia are 
practically alone on the stage. John a7id Vida 
are barely withm sight. You first see him take 
her fan and give her air ; then he picks up a 
book and reads from it to her. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

I've come back. 

Cynthia. 

\To Sir Wilfrid.] Asks for air and goes to the green- 
liouse. [Cynthia crosses l. Sir Wilfrid offers her a 
seat.~\ I know why you are here. It's that intoxicating 
little whim you suppose me to have for you. My re- 
grets ! But the whim's gone flat! Yes, yes, my gaso- 
line days are over. I'm going to be garaged for good, 
(However, I'm glad you're here ; you take the edge 
t)ff 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Mr. PhilHmore? 

Cynthia, 
\Sharpiy.'\ No, Karslake. I'm just waiting to say the 
words [^«/^r Thomas] "love, honor and obey" to Phil- 
limore — {looks up back'] and at Karslake ! [Cynthia sees 
Thomas.] What is it ? Mr. PhilHmore ? 

Thomas, 
Mr. PhilHmore will be down in a few minutes, ma'am. 
He's very sorry, ma'am, [lowers his voice and comes 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 129 

nearer Cynthia, mindful of the respectabilities] but there's 
a button off his waistcoat. 

Cynthia. 

[Rises, crossing l.] Button off his waistcoat ! 

\_Exit Thomas, l. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

[Delightedly. '] Ah! So much the better for me. 
[Cynthia looks up back.'] Now, then, never mind those 
two ! [Cynthia ?noves restlessly.] Sit down. 

Cynthia. 
I can't. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
You're as nervous as 

Cynthia. 
Nervous! Of course I'm nervous! So would you be 
nervous if you'd had had a runaway and smash up, and 
you were going to try it again. [Looks up back. Sir 
Wilfrid uneasy^ And if some one doesn't do away 
with those calla lilies — the odor makes me faint ! [Sir 
Wilfrid viovesT] No, it's not the hhes ! It's the orange 
blossoms I 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Orange blossoms. 

Cynthia. 
The flowers that grow on the tree that hangs over the 
abyss! [Sir Wilfrid gets the vase of orange blossoms.] 
They smell of six o'clock in the evening. When Philip's 
fallen asleep, and little boys are crying the winners out- 
side, and I'm crying inside, and dying inside and outside 
and everywhere. 

[Sir Wilfrid co^nes down. 



130 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Sorry to disappoint you. They're artificial. [Cynthia 
shrugs her shoulders.'] Tliat'sitI They're emblematic of 
artificial domesticity ! And I'm here to help you balk it. 
\_He sits; Cynthia half rises and looks toward ]ovl^ and 
ViDA.] Keep still now, I've a lot to say to you. Stop 

looking 

Cynthia. 

Do you think I can hsten to you make love to me 
when the man who — who — whom I most despise in all 
the world, is reading poetry to the woman who — who 
got me into the fix I'm in ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\Leaning over the chair in which she sits.'\ What do 
you want to look at 'em for.-* \QYWiYL\h. Jitoves.] Let'em 
be and listen to me ! Sit down ; for damme, I'm deter- 
mined. 

[Cynthia sits right of table R. 

Cynthia. 
[^Halfto herself] I won't look at them ! I won't think 
of them. Beasts ! 

[Sir Wilfrid interposes between her and her view 
^ John. it«/<?r Thomas, who comes down R. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Now, then 

\_He sits. 
Cynthia. 
Those two here ! It's just as if Adam and Eve should 
invite the snake to their golden wedding. \She sees 
Thomas.] What is it, what's the matter? 

Thomas. 
Mr. Phillimore's excuses, ma'am. In a very short 

time 

[Thomas exits, r. door. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 131 

Sir Wilfrid. 

I'm on to you ! You hoped for more buttons ! 

Cynthia. 

I'm dying of the heat ; fan me. 

[Sir Wilfrid fans Cynthia. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Heat! No! You're dying because you're ignorin' 
nature. Certainly you are ! You're marryin' PhilHmore ! 
[Cynthia, business ; feels faittt.'] Can't ignore nature, 
Mrs. Karslake. Yes, you are ; you're forcni' your feel- 
in's. [CYtiTniA glances at /ivn.~\ And what you want to 
do is to let yourself go a bit — up anchor and sit tight ! 
I'm no seaman, but that's the idea! [Cynthia juoves 
and shakes her head] So just throw the reins on nature's 
neck, jump this fellow Phillimore and marry me ! 

\_//e leans over to Cynthia. 

Cynthia. 

\_NaturaUy and irritably.'] You propose to me here, at 
a moment Hke this? When I'm on the last lap — ^just in 
sight of the goal — the gallows — the halter — the altar, I 
don't know what its name is! No, I won't have you! 
[^Looking toward Karslake a7id Vida.] And I won't 
have you stand near me ! I won't have you talking to 
me in a low tone ! \As before.] Stand over there — stand 
where you are. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

I say 

Cynthia. 

I can hear you — I'm listening ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Well, don't look so hurried and worried. You've got 
buttons and buttons of time. And now my offer. You 
haven't yet said you would 



132 TBE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
Marry you ? I don't even know you ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\_Feeling sure of being accepted. '\ Oh, — tell you all about 
myself. I'm no duke in a pickle o' debts, d'ye see? I 
can marry where I like. Some o' my countrymen are 
rotters, ye know. They'd marry a monkey, if poppa-up- 
the-tree had a corner in cocoanuts ! And they do marry 
some queer ones, y' know. 

[Cynthia looks up, exclaims and turns. Sir 
Wilfrid timis. 

Cynthia. 

Do they ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Oh, rather. That's what's giving your heiresses such 
a bad name lately. If a fellah's in debt he can't pick 
and choose, and then he swears that American gals are 
awfully fine lookers, but they're no good when it comes 
to continuin' the race! Fair dolls in the drawin'-room, 
but no good in the nursery. 

Cynthia. 
{Thinking ^ John a7id\\T>K and nothing else. 1 I can 
see Vida in the nursery. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
You understand when you want a brood mare, you 
don't choose a Kentucky mule. 
Cynthia. 
I think I see one. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Well, that's what they're saying over there. They say 

your gals run to talk, \Jie plainly remembers Vida's volu- 

bility] and I have seen gals here that would chat life into 

a wooden Indian ! That's what you Americans call be- 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 133 

ing clever. — All brains and no stuffin' ! In fact, some of 
your American gals are the nicest boys I ever met. 

Cynthia. 
So that's what you think ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Not a bit what /think— what my countrymen think! 

Cynthia. 
Why are you telling me ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Oh, just explaining my character. I'm the sort that 
can pick and choose — and what I want is heart. 

Cynthia. 
[Always Vida a;/^ John in 7nmd.'\ No more heart than 
a dragon-fly ! 

[ The organ begins to play softly. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
That's it, dragon-fly. Cold as stone and never stops 
buzzing about and showin' off her colors. It's that 
American dragon-fly girl that I'm afraid of, because d'ye 
see, I don't know what an American expects when he 
marries; yes, but you're not listening ! 

Cynthia. 
I am hstening. I am ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
\Speaks directly to her.'\ An Englishman, ye see, when 
he marries expects three things ; love, obedience and 
five children. 

Cynthia. 
Three things ! I make it seven ! 



134 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Yes, my dear, but the point is, will you be mistress of 
Traynham? 

Cynthia. 

[^VVho has only half lisietied to him.'] No, Sir Wilfrid, 
thank you, I won't. \_She turns to see John crossing the 
drawing-room at back, with Vida, apparently absorbed in 
what she says.] It's outrageous ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Eh ? Why you're cryin' ? 

Cynthia. 
[^Almost sobbing.] I am not. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
You're not crying because you're in love with me? 

Cynthia. 
I'm not crying — or if I am, I'm crying because I love 
my country. It's a disgrace to America — cast-off hus- 
bands and wives getting together in a parlor and playing 
tag under a palm-tree. 

[John with ifitention and dete?'mined to stab 
Cynthia, kisses Vida's hand. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Eh! Oh! I'm damned! \_To Cynthia.] What do 
you think that means ? 

Cynthia. 
I don't doubt it means a wedding here, at once — after 
mine ! 

[Vida and John cojne down. 

Vida. 
[Affecting an impossible intimacy to wound Cynthia 
and tantalize Sir Wilfrid,] Hush, Jack — I'd much 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 135 

rather no one should know anything about it until it's all 
over ! 

Cynthia. 
[Starts and looks at Sir Wilfrid.] What did I tell 
you ? 

ViDA. 

[To Cynthia.] Oh, my dear, he's asked me to cham- 
pagne and lobster at your house — his house ! Matthew 
is coming ! [Cynthia starts, but controls herself.'] And 
you're to come. Sir Wilfrid. [Vida speaks, intetidmg to 
convey the idea of a sudden marriage ceremofty.~\ Of 
course, my dear, 1 would hke to wait for your wedding, 
but something rather — rather important to me is to take 
place, and I know you'll excuse me. 

[ Organ -stops. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Piqued at being forgotten.] All very neat, but you 
haven't given me a chance, even. 

Vida. 
Chance "l You're not serious ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
I am ! 

Vida. 
[Striking while the iron is hot.] I'll give you a minute 
to offer yourself. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Eh? 

Vida. 
Sixty seconds from now. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Uncertain.] There's such a thing as bein' silly. 



136 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

ViDA. 

[Calm cmd cktermined.'] Fifty seconds left. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
I take you — count fair. [He hands her his watch and 
goes to where Cynthia stands.'] I say, Mrs. Karslake 

Cynthia. 
[Overwhelmed with grief and emotion.] They're en- 
gaged ; they're going to be married to-night, over cham- 
pagne and lobster at my house ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Will you consider your 

Cynthia. 
[Hastily, to get rid of him.] No, no, no, no ! Thank 
you, Sir Wilfrid, I will not. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[Calm, and not to be laid low.] Thanks awfully. 
[Crosses to ViDA. Cynthia goes up.] Mrs. Philli- 
more 

Vida. 

[She gives him back his watch.] Too late ! [To Kars- 
lake.] Jack, dear, we must be off. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

[Standing c. and snaking a general appeal for informa- 
tion.] I say, is it the custom for American girls — that 
sixty seconds or too late ? Look here ! Not a bit too late. 
I'll take you around to Jack Karslake's, and I'm going 
to ask you the same old question again, you know. [To 
ViDA.] By Jove, you know in your country it's the pace 
that kills. 

[Exeunt Sir Wilfrid a?td Vida, l. door. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 137 

John. 
\_GraveIy to Cynthia, who comes {/own.'] Good-night, 
Mrs. Karslake, I'm going ; I'm sorry I came. 

Cynthia. 
Sorry ? Why are you sorry ? [John /oo^s at her; she 
winces a iittie.'] You've got what you wanted. \_Pause.'] 
1 wouldn't mind your marrying Vida ■ 

John. 
[^Gravely.] Oh, wouldn't you? 

Cynthia. 
But I don't think you showed good taste in engaging 
yourselves here. 

John. 
Of course, I should have preferred a garden of roses 
and plenty of twilight. 

Cynthia. 
'[^Rushing into speech.] I'll tell you what you have 
done — you've thrown yourself away ! A woman like 
that ! No head, no heart ! All languor and loose — 
loose frocks — she's the typical, worst thing America can 
do ! She's the regular American marriage worm ! 

John. 
I have known others 

Cynthia. 
l^Quickly.] Not me. I'm not a patch on that woman. 
Do you know anything about her life? Do you know 
the things she did to Philip ? Kept him up every night 
of his life — forty days out of every thirty — and then, with- 
out his knowing it, put brandy in his coffee to make him 
lively at breakfast. 



138 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
\_Ba7ttertngiy.'\ I begin to think she is just the 
woman 

Cynthia. 

\U7table to quiet her jealousy?!^ She is not the woman 

for you! A man with your bad temper — your airs of 

authority — your assumption of — of — everything. What 

you need is a good, old-fashioned, bread poultice woman ! 

[Cynthia, full stop ; faces John. 

John. 
\_Sharfly.'] Can't say I've had any experience of the 
good old-fashioned bread poultice. 

Cynthia. 
I don't care what you say ! If you marry Vida Philli- 
more — you shan't do it. {Tears of rage choking her. '\ No, 
I liked your father and for his sake, I'll see that his son 
doesn't make a donkey of himself a second time. 

John. 
\Too angry to be amused.'] Oh, I thought I was divorced. 
I begin to feel as if I had you on my hands still. 

Cynthia, 
You have ! You shall have ! If you attempt to marry 
her, I'll follow you— and I'll find her— I'll tell Vida— 
\_he turns to her] I will. I'll tell Vida just what sort of a 
dance you led me. 

John. 
{Quickly on her last word but speaking gravely.] In- 
deed ! Will you ? And why do you care what happens 
to me .'• 

Cynthia. 
{Startled by his tone.] I — I — ah 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 139 

John. 
\lnsistently and with a faint hope,'] Why do you caret 

Cynthia. 
I don't. Not in your sense 

John. 
How dare you then pretend 

Cynthia. 
I don't pretend. 

John. 
[^Interrupting her ; proud, serious and strong.'] How dare 
you look me in the tace with the eyes that I once kissed, 
and pretend the least regard for me ? [Cynthia recoils 
and looks away. Her own feelings are revealed to her 
clearly for the first time.] 1 begm to understand our 
American women now. Fire-flies — and the fire they 
gleam with is so cold that a midge couldn't warm his 
heart at it, let alone a man. You're not of the same 
race as a man ! You married me for nothing, divorced 
me for nothing, because you a^-e nothing ! 

Cynthia. 

[Wounded to the heart.] Jack! What are you say- 
ing? 

John. 
, {With unrestrained einotion.] What, — you feigning an 

interest in me, feigning a lie — and in five minutes 

[Gesture indicating altar.] Oh, you've taught me the 
trick of your sex — you're the woman who's not a woman ! 

Cynthia. 
[Weakly.] You're saying terrible things to me. 



140 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
[^Low and with intensity.'] You haven't been divorced 
from me long enough to forget — what you should be 
ashamed to remember. 

Cynthia. 

{^Unable to face him and pretending not to understand 
hitn.l I don't know what you mean? 

John. 
[More forcibly and with niajily emotion.] You're not 
able to forget me? You know you're not able to forget 
me ; ask yourself if you are able to forget me, and when 

your heart, such as it is, answers " no," then \The 

organ is plainly heard.] Well, then, prance gaily up to the 
altar and marry that, if you can ! 

\_He exits quickly, L. Cynthia crosses to arm- 
chair and sinks into it. She trembles as if she 
were overdone. Voices are heard speakitig in 
the next roojn. Enter Matthew arid Miss 
Heneage, r. Ejiter Philip, r. Cynthia is 
so sunk in the chair they do not see her, Miss 
Heneage goes up to sofa back and waits. 
They all are dressed for an evening reception 
and Philip in the traditional bridegroom' s rig 
— large buttonhole, etc. 

Matthew. 
\As he enters.] I am sure you will do your part, Sarah 
— in a spirit of Christian decorum. \To Philip.] It was 
impossible to find my surplice, Philip, but the more in- 
formal the better. 

Philip. 
\With pompous responsibility r\ Where's Cynthia? 

[Matthew gives glance around room. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA .141 

Matthew. 
Ah, here's the choir! \_Goes up stage. Choir boys 
come in very orderly ; divide and take their places, an 
even mwiber on each side of the altar of /lowers. Mat- 
thew vaguely superintends. Philip gets in the way of 
the bell. Moves out of the way. is^/^r Thomas.] Thomas, 

I directed you One moment if you please. 

\_Indicates table and chairs. Thomas hastens to 
move chairs and table l. against wall. Philip 
co7nes down. 

Philip. 
{^Looking for her.'] Where' s Cynthia ? 

[Cynthia rises. Philip sees her wheji she moves 
and crosses toward her, but stops. Organ 
stops. 

Cynthia. 
[^Faintly.'] Here I am. 

[Matthew comes down. Organ plays softly. 

Matthew. 

[^Coming to Cynthia.] Ah, my very dear Cynthia, I 
knew there was something. Let me tell you the words of 
the hymn I have chosen : 

" Enduring love ; sweet end of strife ! 
Oh, bless this happy man and wife ! " 

I'm afraid you feel — eh — eh ! 

Cynthia. 
[^Desperately calm.'] I feel awfully queer — I think I 
need a scotch. 

[Orgafi stops. Philip remains uneasily up l. 
Mrs. PhillIxMORE and Grace enter back 
slowly, as cheerf^illy as if they ivere going to 
hear the funeral service read. They remain 

up L, 



142 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Matthew. 
Really, my dear, in the pomp and vanity — I mean — 
ceremony of this— this unique occasion, there should be 
sufficient exhilaration. 

Cynthia. 
\_As before.'] But there isn't ! 

[She sits. 

Matthew. 

I don't think my Bishop would approve of — eh — any- 
thing before ! 

Cynthia. 

[ Too agitated to know how much she is moved."] I feel 
very queer. 

Matthew. 
[Piously sure thai everything is for the best.] My dear 
child 

Cynthia. 
However, I suppose there's nothing for it — now — but — 
to— to 

Matthew. 
Courage ! 

Cynthia. 
[Desperate and with sudden explosion.] Oh, don't 
speak to me. I feel as if I'd been eating gunpowder, 
and the very first word of the wedding service would set 
it off! 

Matthew. 
My dear, your indisposition is the voice of nature. 

[Cynthia speaks more rapidly ajtd with growing 
excitetnent. Matthew goes up to c, ajid near 
the choir boys. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 143 

Cynthia. 
Ah, — that's it — nature ! [Matthew shakes his head.] 
I've a great mind to throw the reins on nature's neck. 

Philip. 

Matthew ! 

[i% moves to take his stand for the ceremony. 

Matthew. 
[Looks at Philip. To Cynthia.] PhiUp is ready. 

[Philip comes down c. The organ plays the wed- 
dijig march . 

Cynthia. 
{To herself, as if at bay. 1 Ready? Ready,? Ready? 

Matthew. 
Cynthia, you will take Miss Heneage's arm. [Miss 
Heneage comes down near table.'] Sarah! [Matthew 
indicates to Miss Heneage where Cynthia is. Miss 
Heneage advances a step or two. Matthew goes up C, 
ajid speaks in a low voice to choir.] Now please don't 
forget, my boys. When I raise my hands so, you begin, 
"Enduring love, sweet end of strife," etc. [Cynthia 
has risen. On the table is her long lace cloak. She stands 
by this table. - Matthew assumes sacerdotal importance 
a7id takes his position inside the altar of fioivers.] Ahem ! 
Philip! \_He indicates to Philip to take his position 7] 
Sarah! [Cynthia breathes fast, and supports herself on 
table. Miss Heneage goes doiun l. a7id stands for a 
moment looking at Cynthia.] The ceremony will now 
begin. 

\The organ plays Mendelssohn s wedding march. 

Cynthia turns and faces Miss Heneage. 

Miss Heneage comes c. slowly, and extends 

her hand in her readiness to lead the bride to 

the altar. 



144 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Miss Heneage. 
Mrs. Karslake ! 

Philip. 
Ahem! 

[Matthew steps forward two or three steps. 
Cynthia stands turned to stone. 

Matthew. 
My dear Cynthia. I request you— to take your place. 
[Cynthia moves one or two steps across as if to go tip to the 
altar. She takes Miss YiY.-^Y.k.QY: ^ hand atid slowly they 
walk toward Matthew.] Your husband to be — is ready, 
the ring is in my pocket. I have only to ask you the 
— eh— necessary questions, — and— eh— all will be bhss- 
fully over in a moment. 

\The organ is louder. 

Cynthia. 
\At this moment, just as she reaches Philip, she stops, 
faces round, looks him, Matthew and the rest in the face 
and cries out in despair.'] Thomas ! Call a hansom ! 
[Thomas exits and leaves door open. Miss Heneage 
crosses L. Mrs. Phillimore rises. Cynthia grasps 
her cloak on table r. Philip turns and Cynthia comes 
right of Q. and stops.] I can't, Philip — I can't. \^Whistle 
of hansojn is heard off ; the organ stops.] It is simply a 
case of throwing the reins on nature's neck — up anchor — 
and sit tight! [Matthew ^rr^^^^^ /<? Cynthia.] Matthew, 
don't come near me ! Yes, yes, I distrust you. It's 
your business, and you'd marry me if you could. 

Philip. 

\lVatching her in dismay as she throws on her cloak.'\ 
Where are you going ? 

Cynthia. 
I'm going to Jack. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 145 

Philip. 
What for? 

Cynthia. 

To stop his marrying Vida. I'm blowing a hurricane 
inside, a horrible, happy hurricane ! I know myself — I 
know what's the matter with me. If I married you and 
Miss Heneage — what's the use of talking about it — he 
mustn't many that woman. He shan't. [Cynthia has 
now all her wraps oji ; goes up rapidly. To Philip.] 
Sorry ! So long ! Good-night and see you later. 

[Cynthia goes to door r., rapidly ; Matthew, 
in absolute amazement, throws up his arms. 
Philip is rigid. Mrs. Phillimore sinks into 
a chair. Miss Heneage supercilious and un- 
moved. Grace the sajne. The choir, at Mat- 
thew's gesture, mistakes it for the concerted 
signal, a?id bursts lustily into the Epithalamis. 

" Enduring love — sweet end of strife ! 
Oh, bless this happy man and wife ! " 



CURTAIN 



THE FOURTH ACT 

SCENE. — ^JoHN Karslake's study and smoking-room. Bay 
window up r. Door r. to stairs and the front door of 
house. Door l., at backy leading to the dining-room. 
Fireplace down l., and mantel. ^ Phone down l. 
Bookcase containing law books and sporting books. Full- 
length portrait of Cynthia on the wall, r. Noth- 
ing of this portrait is seen by audience except the gilt 
frame and a space of canvas. A large table with 
writing materials is littered over with law books, 
sporting books , papers y pipes y crops, a pair of spurs, 
etc. A wedding ring lies on it. There are three 
very low easy-chairs. The general appearance of the 
room is extremely gay and garish in color. It has the 
easy confusion of a man's room. A small table R. 
On this table is a woman'' s sewing-basket. The sewing- 
basket is open. A piece of rich fancy work lies on the 
table, as if a lady had just risen from sewing. On 
the corner are a lady's gloves. On a chair-back is a 
lady s hat. It is a ha f hour later than the close of 
Act III. Curtains are drawn over window. Lamp on 
table L., lighted. Electric lights about room also 
lighted. One chair down r. // conspicuously standing 
on its head. 

\_Curtain rises on Nogam, who busies himself at table, 
back. Door at back is half open. 
146 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 147 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[^Comes in door l., up.'] Eh— what did you say your 
name was? 

NOGAM. 

Nogam, sir. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Nogam? I've been here thirty minutes. Where are 
the cigars? [Nogam ynotions to a small table near the 
entrance door where the cigars are.] Thank you. Nogam, 
Mr. Karslake was to have followed us here, immediately. 
\He lights a cigar.] 

Nogam. 
Mr. Karslake just now 'phoned from his club [Sir 
Wilfrid comes down r.], and he's on his way home, sir. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Nogam, why is that chair upside down ? 

Nogam. 
Our orders, sir. 

ViDA. 

\Speaking as she comes on.] Oh, Wilfrid ! [Sir Wil- 
frid turns. ViDA cofjzes slowly down.] I can't be left 
longer alone with the lobster ! He reminds me too much 
of Phillimore ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Karslake' s coming ; stopped at his club on the way ! 
\^To Nogam.] You haven't heard anything of Mrs. Kars- 
lake ? 

Nogam. 
[Surprised.] No, sir! 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[/« an .aside to Vida, as they move right to appear to 
be out ^ Nogam 's hearing.] Deucedlyodd, ye know — 



148 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

for the Reverend Matthew declared she left Phillimore's 
house before he did, — and she told them she was coming 
here ! 

[NOGAM evidently takes this in. 

ViDA. 

Oh, she'll turn up. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

Yes, but I don't see how the Reverend Phillimore had 
the time to get here and make us man and wife, don't y' 
know 

ViDA. 

Oh, Matthew had a fast horse and Cynthia a slow one 
— or she's a woman and changed her mind ! Perhaps 
she's gone back and married Phillimore. And besides, 
dear, Matthew wasn't in the house four minutes and a 
half; only just long enough to hoop the hoop. [^She 
twirls her new wedding ring gently about her Jlnger.~\ 
Wasn't it lucky he had a ring in his pocket? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Rather. 

ViDA. 

And are you aware, dear, that Phillimore bought and 
intended it for Cynthia? Do come [she goes up to the 
door through which she entered], I'm desperately hungry! 
Whenever I'm married that's the effect it has ! 

[ViDA goes out. Sir Wilfrid sees her through 
door, but stops to speak to NoGAM. 

Sir Wilfrid, 
We'll give Mr. Karslake ten minutes, Nogam. If he 
does not come then, you might serve supper. 

[He follows Vida. 

Nogam. 
[7^^ Sir Wilfrid.] Yes, sir. 

[Door R. opens. Enter Fiddler. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 149r 

Fiddler. 
[Easy and business-like.'] Hello, Nogam, where' s the 
guv'nor? That mare's off her oats, and I've got to see 
him. 

Nogam. 
He'll soon be here. 

Fiddler. 
Who was the parson I met leaving the house ? 

Nogam. 
{^Whispers.] Sir Wilfrid and Mrs. Phillimore have a. 
date with the guv'nor in the dining-room, and the rev- 
erend gentleman 

\_Gesture as of giving an ecclesiastical blessings 

Fiddler. 

\Amazedr\ He hasn't spliced them ? [Nogam assents^^^ 
He has? They're married? Never saw a parson could 

resist it ! 

Nogam. 
Yes, but I've got another piece of news for you. Wha 
do you think the Rev. PhiUimore expected to find here f 

Fiddler. 
{^Proud of being in the hww.] Mrs. Karslake? I saw 
her headed this way in a hansom with a balky horse only 

a minute ago. If she hoped to be in at the finish 

[Fiddler goes dorvn r. and is about to set chair 
on its legs. 

Nogam. 

[Quickly?^ Mr. Fiddler, sir, please to let it alone. 

Fiddler. 

\^Puts chair down in surprise.'] Does it live on its 
blooming head? 



150 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

NOGAM. 

Don't you remember? She threw it on its head when 
she left here, and he won't have it up. Ah, that's it — 
hat, sewing-basket and all, — the whole rig is to remain 
as it was when she handed him his knock-out. 

\_A bell rings outside. 

Fiddler. 
There's the guv'nor — I hear him ! 

NOGAM. 

I'll serve the supper. {Takes letter frojn pocket and 
puts it on mantel^ Mr. Fiddler, would you mind giving 
this to the guv'nor? It's from his lawyer — his lawyer 
•couldn't find him and left it with me. He said it was 
very important. \Goes up l. Bell rings again. Speak- 
ing off to Sir Wilfrid.] I'm coming, sir ! 

[NoGAM goes out back, and shuts door. Enter 
John Karslake, r. He looks downhearted, 
his hat is pushed over his eyes. His hands 
in his pockets. He e?iiers slowly and heavily. 
Sees Fiddler, who salutes, forgetting letter. 
John cojnes l. and sits in armchair at study 
table. 

John. 

\Speaking as he walks to his chair.'] Hello, Fiddler ! 

[Pause. John throws hitnself into a chair,- keeps 
his hat on. Throws down gloves ; sighs. 

Fiddler. 
Came in to see you, sir, about Cynthia K, 

HN. 

IDrearily.l Damn Cynthia K ! — 

Fiddler. 
Couldn't have a word with you? 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 
John. 

Fiddler. 

John. 

Fiddler. 



161 



{Grumj}y.'\ No! 

Yes, sir. 

Fiddler. 

Yes, sir. 

John. 

Mrs. Karslake [Fiddler nods."] You used to 

say she was our mascot ? 

Fiddler. 
Yes, sir. 

John. 
Well, she's just married herself to a — a sort of a man I 

Fiddler. 
Sorry to hear it, sir. 

John. 
Well, Fiddler, between you and me, we're a pair of 
idiots. 

Yes, sir! 



Fiddler. 
John. 



And now it's too late ! 

Fiddler. 
Yes, sir — oh, beg your pardon, sir — your lawyer left a 
letter. 

[John takes letter; opens it and reads it, indiffef 
ent/y at first. 



152 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
\_As he opens letter.'] What's he got to say, more than 
what his wire said? — Eh — [as he reads, he is dumb- 
founded'] what? — Will explain. — Error in wording of 
telegram. — Call me up. — \Tiirns to telephone quickly.] 

The man can't mean that she's still Hello ! Hello ! 

[John listens. 

Fiddler. 
Would like to have a word with you, sir 

John. 
Hello, Central ! 

Fiddler. 
That mare 

John. 

\Looks at letter; speaks into ' phone. 1 33246a 38 ! Did 
you get it? 

Fiddler. 
That mare, sir, she's got a touch of malaria 

John. 

\At the phone:] Hello, Central— 33246a— 38 !— Clay- 
ton Osgood — yes, yes, and say, Central — get a move on 

you ! 

Fiddler. 
If you think well of it, sir, I'll give her a tonic 

John. 
{Still at the* phone.] Hello! Yes— yes— Jack Kars- 
lake. Is that you, Clayton ? Yes — yes— well 

Fiddler. 
Or if you like, sir, I'll give her 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 153 

John. 
[7//r;««^^« Fiddler.] Shut.up! \_To' phone.'] What 
was that? Not you — not you — a technical error? You 

mean to say that Mrs. Karslake is still — my Hold 

the wire, Central — get off the wire ! Get off the wire ! 

Is that you, Clayton ? Yes, yes — she and I are still 

I got it ! Good-bye ! 

\Ha7igs up receiver ; falls back in chair. For a 
?noment he is overcome. Takes up telephone 
book. 

Fiddler. 
All very well, Mr. Karslake, but I must know if Fm 
to give her 

John. 
\Tuming over the leaves of the telephone book in hot 
haste.] What's Phillimore's number? 

Fiddler. 

If you've no objections, I think I'll give her a 

John. 

\_As before.] L— M— N— O— P It's too late! 

She's married by this! Married! — and — my God — I — 
I am the cause. PhiUimore 

Fiddler. 
I'll give her 

John. 

Give her w^heatina! — give her grape nuts — give her 
away ! [Fiddler goes up.] Only be quiet ! PhiUimore 1 

{Enter Sir Wilfrid, back. 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Hello ! We'd almost given yon up I 



154 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
\Still in his agitation unable to find Phi/limore s num- 
ber."] Just a moment! I'm trying to get Phillimoie on 
the phone to— to tell Mrs. Karslake 

Sir Wilfrid. 
No good, my boy — she's on her way here ! [John 
drops book and looks up dumbfounded7\ The Reverend 
Matthew was here, y* see — and he said 

John. 
\_Rises : turns.'] Mrs. Karslake is coming here? [SiR 
Wilfrid nods.'] To this house ? Here ? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
That's right. 

John. 
Coming here ? You're sure ? [Sir Wilfrid nods as- 
sent.] Y'\dd\tr [crosses K., to Fiddler. Y\t>t>i.kk comes 
c], I want you to stay here, and if Mrs. Karslake 
comes, don't fail to let me know ! Now then, for 
Heaven's sake, what did Matthew say to you? 

Sir Wilfrid. 
Come along in and I'll tell you. 
John. 

On your life now. Fiddler, don't fail to let me 

[Exeunt John and Sir Wilfrid. 

Vida. 
{Voice off,] Ah, here you are ! 
Fiddler. 
Phew ! 

[A mojnenfs pause, aftd Cynthia enters. She 
comes in very quietly, almost shyly, and as if 
she were tmcertain of her welcome. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 155 

Cynthia. 

Fiddler! Where is he? Has he come? Is he here ? 
Has he gone ? 

Fiddler. 

{^Rattled.'] Nobody's gone, ma'am, except the Rev- 
erend Matthew PhiUimore. 

Cynthia. 
Matthew? He's been here and gone? [Fiddler nods 
assent.'] You don't mean I'm too late? He's married 
them already ? 

Fiddler. 
Nogam says he married them ! 
Cynthia. 
He's married them ! Married ! Married before I could 
get here ! [^Sits in armchairT] Married in less time than 
it takes to pray for rain ! Oh, well, the church — the 
church is a regular quick marriage counter. {Voices 
of ViBX and John heard off in light-hearted laughter !\ 
Oh ! 

Fiddler. 
I'll tell Mr. Karslake 

Cynthia. 

{Rising and going to the door through which John 
left the stage ; she turns the key i?i the lock and takes it 
out.] No — 1 wouldn't see him for the world ! {She comes 
down with key to the work-table.] If I'm too late, I'm too 
late ! and that's the end of it ! {She lays key on 
table L. ; remains stajiding near it.\ I've come, and now 
I'll go! {Long pause. Cynthia looks about the room; 
changes her tone.] Well, Fiddler, it's all a good deal as 
it used to be in my day. 

Fiddler. 
No, ma'am — everything changed, even the horses. 



156 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
\Sa7ne business; absent-mindedly. ^^ Horses — how are 
the horses ? 

[Throughout this scene she gives the idea that she 
is saying good-bye to her life with John. 

Fiddler, 
[r. c] Ah, when husband and wife sphts, ma'am, it's 
tlie horses that suffer. Oh, yes, ma'am, we're all 
changed since you give us the go-by, — even the guv' nor. 

Cynthia, 
[l. c] How's he changed ? 

Fiddler. 
Lost his sharp for horses, and ladies, ma'am — gives 
'em both the boiled eye. 

Cynthia, 
[l. c, down.l I can't say 1 see any change; there's 
my portrait — I suppose he sits and pulls faces at me. 

Fiddler. 
Yes, ma'am, I think Fd better tell him of your bein' 
here. 

Cynthia. 
[^Gently but decidedly.'] No, Fiddler, no ! [She again 
looks about her.] The room's in a terrible state of dis- 
order. However, your new mistress will attend to that. 
[Pause.] Why, that's not her hat ! 

Fiddler. 
Yours, ma'am. 

Cynthia. 
Mine ? [She goes to the table to look at it.] Is that my 
work-basket ? [Pause.] My gloves ? [Fiddler assents.] 
And I suppose [She hurriedly goes to the writing- 
table.] My — yes, there it is : my wedding ring ! — just 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 157 

where I dropped it! Oh, oh, oh, he keeps it hke 
this — hat, gloves, basket and ring, everything just as it 

was that crazy, mad day when I \_Giances at F\n- 

DLER and breaks off'.'] But for Heaven's sake, Fiddler, 
set that chair on its feet ! 

Fiddler. 
Against orders, ma'am. 

Cynthia. 

Against orders ? 

Fiddler. 
You kicked it over, ma'am, the day you left us. 

Cynthia. 
No wonder he hates me with the chair in that 
state ! He nurses his wrath to keep it warm. So, after 
all, Fiddler, everything is changed, and that chair is the 
proof of it. I suppose Cynthia K is the only thing in the 
world that cares a whinney whether Fm alive or dead. 
\_She breaks down and sobs.] How is she, Fiddler? 

Fiddler. 
Off her oats, ma'am, this evening. 

Cynthia. 
Off her oats ! Well, she loves me, so I suppose she 
will die, or change, or — or something. Oh, she'll die, 
there's no doubt about that — she'll die. [Fiddler, who 
has been watching his chance, takes the key off the table 
while she is sobbing, tiptoes up the stage, unlocks the door 
and goes out. After he has done so, Cynthia rises and 
dries her eyes^ There — Fm a fool — I must go — before — 

before — he 

{_As she speaks her last word John comes on. 

John. 

Mrs. Karslake ! 



158 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 

\_Confused.'] I — I — I just heard Cynthia K was ill 

[John assents. Cynthia tries to put on a cheerful and 

indifferent tnanner.'] I — I ran round — I — and — and 

{^Pauses, tttrns, comes down.'} Well, I understand it's all 
over. 

John. 
[CAeerfu//y.'] Yes, it's all over. 
Cynthia. 
Howr is the bride ? * 

John. 
Oh, she's a wonder. 

Cynthia. 
Indeed ! Did she paw the ground like the war horse 
in the Bible? I'm sure when Vida sees a wedding ring 
she smells the battle afar off. As for you, my dear Kars- 
lake, I should have thought once bitten, twice shy ! 
But, you know best. 

\_Enter Vida, back l. 

Vida. 
Oh, Cynthia, I've just been through it again, and I feel 
as if I were eighteen. There's no use talking about it, 
my dear, with a woman it's never the second time ! And 
how nice you were, Jack, — he never even laughed at us! 
{Enter Sir Wilfrid, with hat arid cane. Vida kisses 
John.] That's the wages of virtue I 

Sir Wilfrid. 
[/« time to see her kiss John.] I say, is it the custom ? 
Every time she does that, my boy, you owe me a 
thousand pounds. \Sees Cynthia, who comes down 
above chair ; he looks at her and John in turn.~\ Mrs, 
Karslake. \To John.] And then you say it's not an ex- 
traordinary country ! 

[Cynthia is more and more puzzled. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 159, 

VlDA. 

[To John.] See you next Derby, Jack! \_Cyosses fa 
door R. 'Jo Sir Wilfrid.] Come along, Wilfrid ! We 
really ought to be going. \_To Cynthia.] I hope, dear,, 
you haven't married him ! Phillimore's a tomb ! Good- 
bye, Cynthia — I'm so happy ! \_As she goes.'] Just 
think of the silly people, dear, that only have this sensa« 
tion once in a hfetime! 

\^Exit ViDA. John follows Vida oJ^. 

Sir Wilfrid. 

[To Cynthia.] Good-bye, Mrs. Karslake. And I say^ 
ye know, if you have married that dull old Phillimore 
fellah, why when you've divorced him, come over and 
stay at Traynham ! I mean, of course, ye know, bring 
your new husband. There'll be lots o' horses to show 
you, and a whole covey of jolly httle Cates-Darbys. Mind 
you come ! \_With real delicacy of feeling aiid forgetting 
his wife.] Never liked a woman as much in my life as I 
did you ! 

Vida. 

{^Outside; calling him 7] Wilfrid, dear ! 

Sir Wilfrid. 

\Loyal to the woman who has caught him.] except 

the one that's calling me ! 

{^Reenter John. Sir Wilfrid nods to him and 
goes off. John shuts door and crosses l. A 
pause. 

Cynthia. 

So you're not married? 

John. 
No. But I know that you imagined I was. 

{^Pause^ 



160 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
I suppose you think a woman has no right to divorce a 
man — and still continue to feel a keen interest in his 
affairs ? 

John. 
Well, I'm not so sure about that, but I don't quite see 
how 

Cynthia. 

A woman can be divorced — and still [John as- 

seftts ; she hides her embarrassmetit.'] Well, my dear 
Karslake, you've a long life before you, in which to 
learn how such a state of mind is possible! So I won't 
stop to explain. Will you be kind enough to get me a 
cab .^ 

[She moves to the door. 

John. 
Certainly. I was going to say I am not surprised at 
your feeling an interest in me. I'm only astonished 
that, having actually married Phillimore, you come 

here 

Cynthia. 
{Indignantly. '\ I'm not married to him ! 

\_A pause. 

John. 
I left you on the brink — made me feel a httle un- 



certain. 



Cynthia. 



[/« a matter of course tone."] I changed my mind — 
that's all. 

John. 
{^Taking his to7ie from her. '\ Of course. \A pause.'\ 
Are you going to marry him ? 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 161 

Cynthia. 
I don't know. 

John. 
Does he know you 

Cynthia. 
I told him I was coming here. 

John. 
Oh! He'll turn up here, then— eh ? [Cynthia is 
siient.'] And you'll go back with him, I suppose ? 

Cynthia. 
{Talking at random?^ Oh — yes — I suppose so. I— I 
haven't thought much about it. 

John. 
\_Changes his tone.'] Well, sit down ; do. Till he 
comes — talk it over. [i% places the armchair more com- 
fortably for her.'] This is a more comfortable chair ! 

Cynthia. 
{Shamefacedly.] You never liked me to sit in that one ! 

John. 
Oh, well — it's different now. [Cynthia crosses and sits 
dowTt R. , near the upset chair. Lojig pause. John 
crosses^] You don't mind if I smoke ? 

Cynthia. 

{Shakes her head.] No. 

John. 
{Business with pipe. Sits on arm of chair right of 
table L.] Of course, if you find my presence painful, I'll 
— skiddoo. 

{He indicates i.. QY-tiTYiiK shakes her head. JOHN 
smokes pipe and remains seated. 



162 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
{Suddenly and quickly :\ It's just simply a fact, Kars- 
lake, and that's all there is to it— if a woman has once 
been married— that is, the first man she marries— then- 
she may quarrel, she may hate him — she may despise 
him — but she'll always be jealous of him with other 
women. Always ! 

[John takes this as if he were simply glad to have 
the information. 

John. 

Oh Hm ! ah — yes — yes. 

\_A pause. 

Cynthia. 
You probably felt jealous of Phillimore. 

John. 
{Reasonably, sweetly, and in doubt.'] N-o ! I felt simply : 
Let him take his medicine. 

{Apologetically. 

Cynthia. 

Oh! 

John. 

I beg your pardon — I meant 

Cynthia. 
You meant what you said ! 

John. 
{Cojnes a step to her.] Mrs. Karslake, I apolo- 
gize I won't do it again. But it's too late for you to be 

out alone— Philip will be here in a moment— and of 

course, then 

Cynthia. 
It isn't what you ^o)/— it's— it's— it's everything. It's 
the entire situation. Suppose by any chance I don't 
marry Phillimore ! And suppose I were seen at two or 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 163 

three in the morning leaving my former husband's house ! 
It's all wrong. I have no business to be here! I'm 
going ! You're perfectly horrid to me, you know — and 
— the whole place — it's so famihar, and so — so associated 

with — with 

John. 

Discord and misery— I know 

Cynthia. 
Not at all with discord and misery ! With harmony 
and happiness — with — with first love, and infinite hope — 
and — and — Jack Karslake, — if you don't set that chair 
on its legs, I think I'll explode. 

[John crosses rapidly, sets chair ofi its legs. 
Change of tone. 

John. 
\While setting chair on its legs, R.] There! I beg 
your pardon. 

Cynthia. 
[Nervously.'] I believe I hear Philip. 

\_Rises. 
John. 
[Goes up to window^ N-o ! That's the policeman try- 
ing the front door! And now, see here, Mrs. Karslake, 
— you're only here for a short minute, because you can't 
help yourself, but I want you to understand that I'm not 
trying to be disagreeable — I don't want to revive all the 
old unhappy 

Cynthia. 
Very well, if you don't — give me my hat. [John does 
so.~\ And my sewing I And my gloves, please ! \_She indi- 
cates the several articles which lie on the small table.] 
Thanks! [Cynthia throws the lot into the fireplace, \.., 
and returns to the place she has left near table.] There ! 
I feel better ! And now — all I ask is 



164 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
\_Laughs.'\ My stars, what a pleasure it is! 

Cynthia. 
What is ? 

John. 
Seeing you in a whirlwind ! 

Cynthia. 
[ Wounded by his seetnitig itidifference ^ Oh ! 

John. 
No, but I mean, a real pleasure ! Why not? Time's 
passed since you and I were together — and — eh 

Cynthia. 
And you've forgotten what a vile temper I had ! 

John. 
{Reflectively r\^ W^ell, you did kick the stuffing out of 
the matrimonal buggy 

Cynthia. 

{Pointedly but with good tejuper.^ It wasn't a buggy ; 

it was a break cart {She stands back of the ann- 

chair.l It's all very well to blame me ! But when you 
married me, I'd never had a bit in my mouth ! 

John. 
Well, I guess I had a pretty hard hand. Do you re- 
member the time you threw both your slippers out of the 
window ? 

Cynthia. 
Yes, and do you remember the time you took my fan 
from me by force ? 

John. 
After you slapped my face with it ! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 165 

Cynthia. 
Oh, oh ! I hardly touched your face ! And do you 
remember the day you held my wrists ? 

John. 
You were going to bite me ! 

Cynthia. 
Jack ! I never ! I showed my teeth at you ! And I 
said I would bite you ! 

John. 
Cynthia, I never knew you to break your word ! \_He 
laughs. Casually. '\ And anyhow — they were awfully 
pretty teeth ! [Cynthia, though bolt upright, has ceased 

to seem pained.~\ And I say — do you remember, Cyn 

[^Leajis over the armchair to talk to her. 

Cynthia. 
{After a pause. '\ You oughtn't to call me " Cyn " — it's 
not nice of you. It's sort of cruel. I'm not — Cyn to you 
now. 

John. 
Awfully sorry ; didn't mean to be beastly, Cyn. [Cyn- 
thia turns quickly. John stamps his footP^ Cynthia ! 
Sorry. I'll make it a commandment : thou shalt not 
Cyn!! 

[Cynthia laughs and wipes her eyes. 

Cynthia. 
How can you, Jack? How can you ? 

John. 
Well, hang it, my dear child, I — I'm sorry, but you 
know I always got foolish with you. Your laugh'd make 
a horse laugh. Why, don't you remember that morning 
in the park before breakfast — when you laughed so hard 
your horse ran away with you ! 



166 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 

I do, I do! [^Both laugh. The door opens, R. NoGAM 
enters.'^ But what was it started me laughing ? \_Laughs. 
Sits. Laughs again.'] That morning. Wasn't it some- 
body we met? [^Laughs.] Wasn't it a man on a horse? 

\Laughs. 
John. 
{Laughing too.] Of course ! You didn't know him in 
those days ! But I did ! And he looked a sight in the 
saddle ! 

[Nog AM, tryi?ig to catch their attention, comes 
down R. corner, right of table R. 

Cynthia. 
Who was it ? 

John. 
Phillimore ! 

Cynthia. 
He's no laughing matter now. \Sees NoGAM R.] Jack, 
he's here ! 

John. 
Eh ? Oh, Nogam ? 

NOGAM. 

Mr. Phillimore, sir 

John. 
In the house ? 

Nogam. 
On the street in a hansom, sir — and he requests Mrs. 

Karslake 

John. 
That'll do, Nogam. {Exit Nogam, r. Pause. John 
frojn near the window. Cynthia faces audience.] Well, 
Cynthia ? 

{He speaks almost gravely and with finality. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 167 

Cynthia. 
[Trefubling.'] Well? 

John. 
It's the hour of decision ; are you going to marry him ? 
[Pause.'] Speak up ! 

Cynthia. 

Jack,— I— I 

John. 

There he is — you can join him. 

[^He points to the street. 

Cynthia. 
Join Phillimore— and go home— with him— to his house, 

and Miss Heneage and 

John. 

The door's open. '^ 

\He points to the door. 

Cynthia. 
No, no ! It's mean of you to suggest it ! 

John. 
You won't marry 

Cynthia. 

Phillimore — no ; never. {^Rims to window^ No ; never, 
never, Jack. 

John. 
\Goes up. He calls out ofzvindow, having opetted z/.] 
It's all right, Judge. You needn't wait. 

\_Pause. John cojnes down. Tableau. John bursts 
into laughter. Cynthia looks dazed. He 
closes door. 

. Cynthia. 
Jack! \^OYi^ laughs^ Yes, but I'm here, Jack. 



168 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

John. 
Why not? 

Cynthia. 
You'll have to take me round to the Holland House ! 

John. 
Of course, I will ! But, I say, Cynthia, there's no 
hurry. 

Cynthia. 
Why, I — I — can't stay here. 

John, 
No, of course you can't stay here. But you can have 
a bite, though. [Cynthia shakes her head. John places 
the small chair which was upset, next to table R. Armchair 
above R. c] Oh, I insist. Just look at yourself — you're 
as pale as a sheet and — here, here. Sit right down. I 
insist ! By George, you must do it ! 

[Cynthia crosses to chair beside table R., left of it, 
and sits. 

Cynthia. 
\Faintly^ I ain hungry. 

John. 

Just wait a moment. 

[John exits l., upper door, leaving it open. 

Cynthia. 
I don't want more than a nibble ! {Pause ^^ I am 
sorry to give you so much trouble. 

John. 
No trouble at all. {He can be heard off L. , busied with 
glasses and a tray7\ A hansom of course, to take you 
round to your hotel? 

\Speaks as he comes down R. 



TEE NEW YORK IDEA 169 

Cynthia. 
\_To herself. 'l I wonder how I ever dreamed I could 
marry that man. 

John. 
\Ahove table by this tzme.^ Can't imagine ! There ! 

Cynthia. 
I am hungry. Don't forget the hansom. 

[_She eats; he waits on her, setting this atid that 
before her. 

John. 
\(joes to doorR., up ; opens it and speaks off^ Nogam, 
a hansom at once. 

Nogam. 

\^Off stage.] Yes, sir. 

John. 

\_Back to above table ; from here on he shows his feelings 
for her.] How does it go ? 

Cynthia. 
[^Faintly.] It goes all right. Thanks ! 

\_Hardly eating at all. 

John. 
You always used to like anchovy. [Cynthia nods and 
eats.] Claret? \fiY^TYi\\ shakes her head.] Oh, but you 
must ! 

Cynthia. 

\_7re7nulotcsly.] Ever so little. \^He fills her glass and 
then his.] Thanks ! 

[He pours out a glass for himself. 

John. 
Here's to old times! 

\_Raisiftg glass. 



170 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
[Very tremulous.'] Please not ! 
John. 
Well, here's to your next husband. • 

Cynthia. 
[Very tenderly^ Don't ! 

John. 
Oh, well, then, what shall the toast be? 

Cynthia. 
I'll tell you — [pause] you can drink to the relation I 
am to you ! 

John. 
[Laughing^ Well — what relation are you ? 

Cynthia. 
I'm your first wife once removed ! 

John. 
[Laughs: drinks.] I say, you're feeling better. 

Cynthia. 
Lots. 

John. 
[Reminiscent.] It's a good deal like those morn- 
ings after the races — isn't it ? 

Cynthia. 
[Nods^ Yes. Is that the hansom ? 

[Halfrises. 

John. 
[Going up to the window.] No. 
Cynthia. 
[Sits again.] What is that sound ? 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 171 

John. 
Don't you remember ? 

Cynthia. 
No. 

John. 
That's the rumbling of the early milk wagons. 

Cynthia. 
Oh, Jack. 

John. 
Do you recognize it now ? 

Cynthia. 

Do I ? We used to hear that— just at the hour, didn't 
we — when we came back from awfully jolly late suppers 
and things ! 

John. 
H'm! 

Cynthia. 
It must be fearfully late. I must go. 

[^Kises, crosses to l. chair, where she has left 
cloak. She sees that John will not help her and 
puts it on herself. 

John. 
Oh, don't go— why go? 

Cynthia. 
{Embarrassed and agitated.'] All good things come to 
an end, you know. 

John. 
They don't need to. 



172 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 

Oh, you don't mean that! And, you know, Jack, if I 
were caught — seen at this hour, leaving this house, you 
know — it's the most scandalous thing any one ever did 
my being here at all. [^Crosses to R. c] Good-bye, Jack ! 
\_Pause ; almost in teats.'] I'd like to say, I — I — 1 — well, 

I shan't be bitter about you hereafter, and \_Pause.'\ 

Thank you awfully, old man, for the fodder and all that ! 

\_Turns to go out R. upper. 

John. 

Mrs. Karslake — wait 

Cynthia. 
{Stopping to hear:\ Well ? 

John. 
\Serious?[ I've rather an ugly bit of news for you. 

Cynthia. 
Yes? 

John. 
I don't believe you know that I have been testing the 
validity of the decree of divorce which you procured. 

Cynthia. 
Oh, have you.? 

John. 
Yes ; you know I felt pretty warmly about it. 

Cynthia. 
Well? 

John. 
Well, I've been successful. [Pause.} The decree's 
been declared invalid. Understand ? 

Cynthia. 
\_Looks at him a moment; then speaks^ Not — precisely. 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 173 

John. 
l^Pause.'] I'm awfully sorry — I'm awfully sorry, Cyn- 
thia, but, you're my wife still. 

[^Pause. 
Cynthia. 
[^IVith rapture. 1 Honor bright ? 

[She sinks into the armchair. 

John. 

\Nods. Half laughingly?^ Crazy country, isn't it? 

Cynthia. 
\Nods. Pause.'] Well, Jack — what's to be done ? 

John. 
\Genily.'\ "Whatever you say. 

[Moves C. 

NOGAM. 

[Quietly enters door r.] Hansom, sir. 

[kxits ; Cynthia rises. 

John. 
Why don't you finish your supper? 

[Cynthia hesitates. 

Cynthia. 

The — the — hansom 

John. 
Why go to the Holland? After all — you know, Cyn, 
you're at home here. 

Cynthia. 
No, Jack, I'm not — I'm not at home here — unless — 
unless 

John. 
Out with it ! 



174 THE NEW YORK IDEA 

Cynthia. 
{^Bursting into iears.'\ Unless I— unless I'm at home in 
your heart, Jack ! 

John. 
What do you think ? 

Cynthia. 
I don't believe you want me to stay. 

John. 
Don't you? 

Cynthia. 

No, no, you hate me still. You never can forgive me. 
I know you can't. For I can never forgive myself. 
Never, Jack, never, never ! 

\_She sobs and he takes her m his arms. 

John. 

\yery tenderly^ Cyn ! I love you! \Strongly7\ And 
you've got to stay ! And hereafter you can chuck chairs 
around till all's blue ! Not a word now. 

\_He draws her gently to a chair. 

Cynthia. 

[ Wiping her tears.'] Oh, Jack ! Jack ! 

John. 
I'm as hungry as a shark. We'll nibble together. 

Cynthia. 

Well, all I can say is, I feel that of all the improprie- 
ties I ever committed this — this 

John. 
This takes the claret, eh ? Oh, Lord, how happy I am ! 



THE NEW YORK IDEA 175 

Cynthia. 
Now don't say that ! You'll make me cry more. 

[She wipes her eyes. John takes out wedding ring 
from his pocket ; he lifts a wine glass, drops 
the ring into it and offers her the glass. 

John. 
Cynthia ! 

Cynthia. 
{Looking at it and wipi7ig her eyes.J What is it ? 
John. 
• Benedictine ! 

Cynthia. 
Why, you know I never take it. 

John. 
Take this one for my sake. 

Cynthia. 
That's not benedictine. [With gentle ctiriosity.'] What 
is it? 

John. 
[He slides the ring out of the glass and puts his arm 
about Cynthia. He slips the ring on to her finger and, as 
he kisses her hand, says.'\ Your wedding ring ! 



CURTAIN 



LBJa'20 



a. W. Ptteto'0 Pa?0 

lancet 50 Centj^ <tBacl^ 

THF MAIilSTff ATF ^^^^ ^ Three Acts. Twelve males, four 
I1U« iTIAUUlAAll4 females. Costumes, moclem; scenery, all 
Interior. Plays two hours and a half. 

THE NOTORIODS MBS. EBBSJGTB ^riJ:,«™"iL:tS. 

Costumes, modem ; scenery, all interiors. Plays a full evening. 

TJIE PROHJGATE ^^^^:ZT, 

costumes, modem. Plays a full evening, 

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS ^"^'^"^ 

three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

THE SECOND MRS. TANQUEBAY ^^^^Z^^^^l 

tumes, modem ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

SWFFT T AYFNDFR comedy in Three Acts. Seven males, four 
iJfTiiitI U ll^\^Vlt females. Scene, a single interior; costumes, 
modem. Plays a full evening. 

THE TIMES C<^°^®^y *° Vovx Acts, six males, seven females. 
^^ Scene, a single interior; costumes, modern. Plays a 

full evening. 

THE WEAKER SEX ^**"^®^y ^ Three Acts. Eight males, eight 
l<«*^*< OU^ females. Costumes, modem ; scenery, two 
interiors. Plays a full evening. 

A WIFE WIllODT A SMILE ^T^J *°,^T ^T\ '^^^ 

a. iimm.m4 m«auvw« tm ^»mmm4M4 niales, foiLt females. Costumes, 
modem ; scene, a single interior. Plays a full evening. 



THE PROFLIGATE ^l^y^ Four Acts. Seven males, five females. 
11114 114 Uitii4 g^jenery^ three interiors, rather elaborate; 



THE SCHOOLMISTRESS ^^xce in Three Acts. Nine males, seven 
liUv vu Li 1^ Ji\iik? females. Costumes, modem; scenery, 



Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

Waim ^. TBafeer & Company 

No. 5 Hamiltom Place, Boston, Massachusetts 



Edi 



%\ft Mlliam Waxxm Coition 
of ^la?fi 



AS[ YftIT II¥F IT Comedy in Five Acts. Thirteen malei, four 
R>J IVU lriivi4 II females. Costumes, picturesque ; scenery, va- 
ried. Plays a full evening. 

r A Mil IF I^i'o^Q' in Fi^G Acts. Nine males, five females. Cos- 
VAiilIL<&rl4 tumes, modern ; scenery, varied. Plays a full evening. 

INIiAIVlAV ^^y *^ ^^^® Acts. Thirteen males, three females. 
lilUViTiitA Scenery varied ; costumes, Greek. Plays a full evening. 

MAPV ^TITABT Tragedy in Five Acts. Thirteen males, four fe- 
iUAl\t iJlvAMki. males, and supernumeraries. Costumea, of the 
period } scenery, varied and elaborate. Plays a full evening. 

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE SSS'Cftl^lSS: gSSet 

picturesque ; scenery varied. Plays a full evening. 

PimFI IPr Play in Five Acts. Fifteen males, two females. Scen- 
^IS^ULLtlLiV ery elaborate ; costumes of the period. Plays % full 
evening. 

THF ftlVAl^ Comedy in Five Aots. Nine males, five females. 
lllli lUTAi4«^ Scenery varied; costumes of the period. PUys a 

full evening. 

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUEB a?LS,Ssr§i«i?r^ 

ried ; costumes of the period. Plays a full evening. 

TWaFTB NJfiHT; OR, WHAT YOO WILL SSSiU'Jii', 

three females. Costumes, picturesque ; scenery, varied Plays a 
full evening. 



Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

Salter 1^* OBafiet? & Compani? 

No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massadwsettt 



